#alcohol is the best goon fuel

[drowninginfelines]

(vomit warning) yall im not gonna lie i got fucked UP last night and threw up five fucking times and then passed out on my floor

woke up a few hours later and managed to crawl into bed

im okay now but WHEW. THAT SUCKED LOL

[radiantroope]

Passed Around || JJ Maybank

pairing: jj x reader

mentions: john b, pope, kiara

requested: no

summary: everyone in the outer banks has their opinions of you. a touron with a smart mouth learns just how quick jj will come to your defense.

warnings: underage consumption of drugs/alcohol, swearing, violence, blood

author’s note: i just started writing randomly and this was the product, enjoy.

masterlist | add yourself to my tag list

* i do not own this gif! if it’s yours, please let me know so i can properly credit you! *

Of course, there was another party at The Boneyard. No surprise there. Summer or Winter, there was always a party. The amount of people that filled the beach always somehow managed to surprise you, especially when it was off season for the tourists. Sometimes you’d still get a couple; people visiting family who lived on the island for Thanksgiving or Christmas.

It was the beginning of December and you’d just arrived at the beach, already hearing thumping music and loud laughter. The brisk ocean air was much colder than you preferred as it came off the ocean. You were yearning for those hot Summer nights again.

You pulled the jacket you were wearing tighter around yourself and continued on your way down to your friends. Just as you hopped over one of the dead and forgotten trees, you heard a shout of your name. You looked to the kegs and smiled when you saw Kiara waving her arm.

As you approached her, you raised an eyebrow at the three kegs set up. Three, how did they manage to score three? You didn’t ask, sometimes you were just better off not knowing. You gratefully took the plastic cup John B passed you and quickly drank some of the bitter liquid.

“Rough day?” the curly haired boy raised an eyebrow at you.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes but ranted anyway, “My grandma is still here. She was supposed to leave after Thanksgiving and now my parents tell me she’s staying all the way through Christmas! If I have to listen to her talk about what college I should go to or about boys any longer, I’m gonna go insane!”

“Does- she doesn’t know about JJ?” Kiara asked with her brows furrowed.

“Oh, she does, but she’s in some alternate reality where she thinks I’ll marry a Kook and be a trophy wife,” you retorted with a sarcastic smile on your face, “My mom’s told her a hundred times that JJ and I are together and nothing will change that.”

You looked over your shoulder at the said blonde who was sitting in a circle with some other teenagers. You saw smoke pillowing through the air and were hit with the faint smell of weed. JJ’s cerulean eyes caught yours and he smiled, waving for you to join him.

“Go, we’ll catch up about your crazy grandma later,” Kiara said, smiling at you.

You smiled back at the girl and turned to walk towards your boyfriend, calling over your shoulder, “Love you, Kie!”

You and JJ had gotten together about nine months ago. Years of longing looks and lingering touches were driving your friends insane. How could two people be so oblivious? Everyone knew your hearts were set on each other, but the two of you were always too stubborn to admit it. Plus, you didn’t want to be the one to break the no macking rule.

One day at the Chateau it boiled over when one of your hookups over stayed his welcome. JJ woke up for the third morning in a row to find the guy helping himself to his stash. He lost it. He wailed on the poor boy and literally kicked him out the door. This resulted in you insisting you liked him and the blonde calling bullshit.

“How do you know how I feel, JJ? You don’t!” you’d screamed, stomping your foot like an angry toddler who’d just been told no as you tried to get your point across.

“Yes I do! Pope told me you’re in love with me!”

Yeah, Pope spilled the beans after you made the drunken confession one night. You swore him to secrecy, but that boy couldn’t keep secrets to save his life most of the time. You still to this day would never let him live that down. But how could you stay mad at him when it resulted in the best possible outcome? JJ was yours, and you were his, finally.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” you flirted as you walked over to the blonde boy.

JJ smiled and laughed, shaking his head at you, “You’re rediculous.”

“But you love me,” you stated as you plopped yourself on his lap, sitting most of your weight on his thigh. His arm wrapped around your waist tightly and he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“Damn right I do.”

You watched as a blunt was passed around the group and listened in on the conversation, chimming in now and again. You took a few puffs yourself when JJ held it up to your lips. You weren’t a big smoker though. Half of the time it made you more anxious than it calmed your down.

JJ had gone to get you both refills on your beers but got distracted talking to Pope and John B. You took his seat and turned to watch him, smiling when he laughed and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His bright white teeth sparkled in the glow of a fire that was going. You watched as the breeze blew his cut off tank and you caught his muscles tense at the cold hair.

“So you and Maybank, huh?” a voice caught your attention and you whipped around.

A Touron, Dominic, who frequented the island this time of year sat in front of you. He had shaggy dark brown hair that was straight and fell around his face, barely touching his jaw. His eyes were a beautiful mossy shade of green. You probably would have hooked up with him in the past is he wasn’t known to be such an ass. He ran around with Rafe and his goons during the day and spent his nights on The Cut causing trouble. He was nicknamed “girlfriend stealer” after many-a-hookups that resulted in ended relationships.

“Yeah,” you responded blandly. There was no way in hell you were going to entertain this kid. He took pride in stealing people’s girls; you would not be one of them.

“You could do better,” Dominic remarked, an infuriating smirk growing on his face. You resisted the urge to slap it right off.

“Like you?” you scoffed, eyebrow raised. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t act like you don’t want to. I remember the way you used to look at me.”

You clenched your jaw and pressed your lips into a line. You stared at him with a blank expression, the smirk on his face growing. He opened his mouth to say something else but was cut off.

“Everything okay over here?” JJ asked from behind you.

He’d seen the way Dominic was looking at you. He knew the game the little shit was playing, and it was a dangerous one. The group of teenagers in the circle you were sitting in looked between the three of you nervously. They all knew better than to push JJ, especially when it came to you. He was quick to fight - even quicker when it was over you.

“Yeah man! Just telling Y/N here she used to be a lot more fun before she got a boyfriend,” Dominic replied casually, shrugging his shoulders a bit.

You stood up and turned to face JJ, seeing that he’d handed your drink refills off to John B and Pope who stood behind him. He’d been anticipating this the moment he saw you two talking. You put your hands on the blonde’s chest and stared up at him.

“Let’s just go, J. It’s not a big deal.”

“Nah, I want to hear what he has to say,” JJ pushed your hands off his chest, eyes never leaving the brunette who was now standing.

Dominic snickered and pushed his hair back off his forehead, saying, “I heard she got passed around quite a bit. Rafe sure had a lot to say about her. Was hoping I could find out for myself.”

Low blow, asshole, you thought to yourself, feeling your stomach sink at the mention of the oldest Cameron sibling. You’d messed around with him long before you and JJ got together, Topper too. It put a rift between you and the Pogues for a while. They didn’t care who you slept with, as long as they weren’t Kooks, but you did what you wanted. JJ was the most upset. You were sleeping with the enemy.

JJ went to walk around you, ready to pummel Dominic into the sand. You grabbed the front of JJ’s shirt and pushed him back with all of your strength. You hated when he got in fights. You couldn’t watch. Most of the time he won, but when he didn’t, you had to clean him up. You tried to keep him out of them the best you could.

“Don’t, JJ, please,” you begged, pushing against his abs, “It’s not worth it.”

JJ’s eyes flickered down to yours, his cold gaze softening a bit when he looked at your pleading face.

“Wow, they weren’t kidding. You really are her bitch,” Dominic said through a laugh when he realized you were convincing JJ not to fight him.

“Shut the fuck up!” you yelled over your shoulder, pushing your boyfriend back once again.

It was useless, JJ managed to get past you, your hands grabbing onto his arms and shirt - whatever you could get ahold of to keep him back. John B grabbed your arm the second the blonde’s fist hit Dominic’s face. You looked back at your curly haired friend and he simply shook his head. Not even Pope moved, they were going to let the guy get his assbeat for talking about you like that. No one talked about you like that.

“Don’t ever talk about her like that again!” JJ yelled, arms swinging, “I’ll kill you, you hear me?! I’ll fucking kill you!”

You tried to shout your boyfriend’s name over the cheering from people watching the fight. He couldn’t hear you, still standing over Dominic who’d been knocked down. He landed blow after blow against the Touron’s face.

“Alright, JJ!” John B yelled, stepping forward.

“He’s had enough, man!” Pope added.

You breathed in deeply through your nose and closed your eyes for a second. As you opened your eyes, you screamed JJ’s name as loud as you could. It was so loud, everyone went quiet and their eyes turned to you.

The blonde froze, fist still pulled back mid swing. His anger fueled frenzy was over and he was brought back to Earth by your voice. He dropped Dominic, who was groaning in pain, into the sand by his shirt. His arm fell to his side and he turned to face you. He had blood trickling down from his nose but other than that, he seemed to be perfectly unharmed.

“Are you done?” you questioned, arms crossing over your chest with a raised brow.

JJ simply nodded in response and walked away from the boy he’d just seriously beaten. He approached you with slumped shoulders and sheepish expression, knowing you were going to scold him for getting in yet another fight. But how could he just stand there and let someone degrade you like that?

“Sorry,” he muttered softly and reached for you, slipping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you back towards the kegs. Kiara stood there, shaking her head as she had watched the altercation from afar.

“If he presses charges, you’re thouroughly fucked, you know that?” you asked him seriously. Though you brought your hand up and intertwined your fingers with his that was hanging off your shoulder.

The blonde boy nodded and took a cup of beer from Kie with his free hand. He downed it all in one go, grunting as he pulled the cup away from his lips. He gave it back for her to refill.

“I know you’re trying to defend me, J, but sometimes I wish you could just walk away,” you sighed and leaned into him, feeling a kiss against the top of your head.

“I’ll try to be better, promise,” he mumbled into your hair and when he pulled his head back you heard him laugh softly. He wiped his hand against your hair and when you looked up at him, he gave you an innocent smile. You saw the trail of blood leaving his nose was smeared and narrowed your eyes.

“You got blood in my hair, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

[nukacoola]

Hey there! I see you were open to writing requests. I haven't had a chance to see your work yet so I'm sorry if this isn't the type of request you typically do! But, I was wondering if you'd indulge me with a little nervous/romantic MacCready confessing feelings? (for sole or Deacon or anyone else you want!)

“Ok, this is it. This is the day. You know what you’re gonna say. Don’t be a fu-, a freaking coward, MacCready. You’ve got this.” MacCready was nervously pacing back and forth in his house in Sanctuary. 

He had invited Sole over for dinner earlier that day but as the clock ticked and the time their meet was scheduled for crept closer, MacCready was getting more and more nervous. He wasn’t nervous because Sole was coming over. On the contrary, he loved hanging out with them. They made him feel happy and safe in a way no one since Lucy had been able to. He was nervous because of what he was planning on saying to them when they arrived. He didn’t know how to thank them when they had helped him kill Winlock, Barnes, and all of their Gunner goons. He didn’t know how to thank them when they still paid him extra caps even after they had become more like friends than business partners. He sure as hell didn’t know how to thank them when they helped him find and successfully deliver Duncan’s cure. And he definitely didn’t know how the hell he was gonna tell them that he, uh, how he felt about them. 

Duncan was out of the house, staying with Curie for the night, and he’d been practicing what he was gonna say all day. Everything should’ve been perfect. He should’ve been ready. Despite his preparations, though, he was a wreck. He was sweating bullets and no matter how much he wiped off his hands, his palms were still clammy. 

“Ok ok, one more time, from the top. Hi Sole! I lov- oh god what the fu- frick! God damn- darn it why can’t I get this right? Hi Sole, I-” MacCready jumped at the sound of knocking at his door. They’re here? Already? He checked the time. It was 6, just as they had planned. MacCready took a deep breath and tried to stop his heart from leaping out of his chest. He wiped his hands on his pants for the 50th time and made his way to the front door. Without letting himself overthink, he opened the door. Lo and behold, it was Sole. They looked really good, as usual, which only fueled MacCready’s nervousness further. Luckily, Sole’s bright smile at seeing MacCready helped ease some of his worries and he smiled back, genuinely. 

“Hey, Mac!” They greeted him with a warm hug which he eagerly returned. “You look really good. Is that a new shirt?” They smoothed their hands over his shoulders, admiring the clean button up.

“Uhh, yeah I just found it at an old Fallon’s.” He answered lamely. The truth is he had paid a good few caps in Diamond City to get a shirt this nice and clean. But Sole didn’t have to know how long he’d been preparing for this night. He noticed that they looked a bit dressed up too.

“So, what are we having tonight. If it’s molerat I’ll only be a little disappointed.” They teased. 

“No molerat!” MacCready promised, trying to keep his confidence up and his voice from wavering. “The brahmin steaks I’ve been making should be ready in just about 10 minutes. Would you like a drink?” He wasn’t sure about Sole, but he certainly needed one. 

“Sounds great.” They replied with a smile before making their way over to MacCready’s couch. “Those steaks smell amazing! I forgot how good you are at cooking.”  

“Oh uh, Thanks!” MacCready stuttered, quickly turning, half to go fix some drinks in the kitchen and half to hide his ruby red blush. He procured two glasses and poured them both some wine. After bringing the drinks over to the living area, he and Sole got to chatting. Mac’s awkward demeanor dissipated as his favorite person excitedly told him about prewar wineries. They were deep in conversation and deep into their drinks when MacCready’s cooking timer went off. 

“Is it done?” Sole asked, “I’m starving.” they flashed Maccready a bright smile which made his stomach flip. He shyly smiled back and nodded.

“It should be, why don’t you go sit down while I take it out of the oven?” 

“Sounds good!” 

MacCready turned to walk into the kitchen and grabbed some oven mitts. He removed the steaks, they were perfect. That made one of them. MacCready was practically shaking he was so nervous. He took a deep breath and willed himself to forget the fact that he was going to tell Sole over dinner. Hey, maybe if the food was good enough they wouldn’t storm out when they didn’t feel the same. He again tried his best to push those thoughts out of his head, instead focusing on the plating of the food. When he felt it was sufficient, he turned back to Sole. He found that they had busied themself with pouring some more wine and two glasses of clean water. 

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that.” MacCready smiled as he set the plates of food down.

“You’ve been slaving away all night! It’s the least I could do.” They grinned, looking up at him. If MacCready didn’t know better he would’ve thought there was a slight pink hue to their cheeks. It must’ve been the alcohol. Sole began to strike up conversation again as they sat down and began to eat. MacCready was starving too. Sole had always said he didn’t eat enough, but his delicious meal and hunger for it were doing little to remedy the nausea caused by the minutes ticking by. He had to tell them but he didn’t want to mess things up. What if they didn’t feel the same? And if they didn't, what if they hated him for ruining their partnership. What if-

“Mac? You ok?” 

Fuck. Sole was looking at him with concern in their eyes. Sole’s hand hovered near Mac’s, but they didn’t touch him. The merc looked back at his partner. His mouth kept opening and closing but the words wouldn’t come out. He had to say something. 

“I-,” Sole’s hand gently lowered to rest on his, “I just, well, we’ve been traveling together for a while now and I have something I wanted to talk about with you.” If his heart palpitations didn’t kill him, the look on Sole’s face would have. Their look of worry shifted into one of borderline fear. Did he already mess this up?? His question was answered when Sole looked away from him and spoke. 

“Did I do something wrong?” their voice wavered. Completely taken aback by this question. MacCready roughly grabbed their hands. They looked up at him, surprised. 

“No no! Nothing like that at all! I mean, hell, Sole! I don’t think you have the ability to do anything wrong.” Sole looked confused, but the worry they had worn before seemed to be gone. “You’re amazing and kind and funny and hell you look like you’re out of a dam-darn pre-war magazine!” 

He heard his words after he said them and internally cringed. That was not what he had planned on saying, but it was too late to take it back. He scanned their face for any signs of animosity but Sole’s face gave no indication of their thoughts. Their cheeks were definitely red, but that was uh, alcohol, again, probably. Mac’s face, on the other hand, could’ve been mistaken for a tato, and it definitely wasn’t from the drinks. 

“Wha-what I was trying to say was I- uh, well I really like you. In a more than friends or work partners kind of way.” MacCready stared at his hands, still holding Sole’s like it was his job. He didn’t want to look up to see a disgusted expression marring his friend’s gorgeous features. If he only had a couple moments of normalcy with them left, he wanted to be able to remember what it felt like to hold their warm hand in his. One of Sole’s hands moved from Mac’s. This was it. They were pulling away. Instead of what he suspected, however, MacCready felt Sole's hand cup his face and tilt it back towards them. He looked into Sole’s kind eyes with a bit of shock painting his own.

“I like you too, Robbie.” Holy shit holy crap oh my god did they just say that?? DID THEY JUST CALL HIM BY HIS FIRST NAME WHEN THEY SAID THAT??? Not even just his first name, a nickname of his first name! The merc felt like his brain was lagging. His face was on fire and he only subconsciously noticed how his stomach was doing gymnastics. Sole laughed. Their cheeks were flushed too as they pressed their forehead against his. 

“So is this our first date then?” They teased.

“I- uh, if you want it to be! I honestly didn’t expect you to feel the same. You’re just so…” MacCready trailed off. There was no way to eloquently explain how beautiful and kind and just overall amazing Sole is. They seemed to get the message though. They flashed him another one of their perfect smiles and leaned back. 

“I feel the same, Mac. I’m so glad you told me.” MacCready smiled. For the first time in a while, he actually felt at ease. 

“Let’s finish our dinner and then we can talk more.” He suggested. 

“Sounds perfect!”

---------------------------------------------------------

Here ya go! I hope you liked it :) <3

[puddygeeks]

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19: Aᴄᴛɪᴏɴs Hᴀᴠᴇ Cᴏɴsᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇɴᴄᴇs

Masterlist

Episode: Contents Under Pressure

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for. 

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Nineteen

I escorted Octavia back to the bottom floor to make sure she got some of the antidote. Then whilst the girls fussed over Finn, I cleaned her wound and dressed it as best I could. Once I’d finished, she insisted on checking on the grounder again. I didn’t fight her, instead opting to check on Jasper and Monty. I spent some time ensuring they weren’t injured from their time out in the storm, before insisting that they change into some dry clothes to warm up and fetching them some food from our limited supplies. Afterwards I made my way to the top floor to check on Octavia, who was cleaning a wound on the head of the imprisoned grounder. As I climbed through the hatch I noticed Miller approaching her, and just heard him speak before he noticed me. 

“You know your brother doesn’t want you up here Octavia, let’s go.” He spoke with authority and I strode over and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hi, remember me?” He rolled his eyes at me and put his hands on his hips in impatience. “Yeah, she’s not going anywhere so why don’t you get back to kissing Bellamy’s ass and get out of my face.” I smiled in an overdramatically friendly way and he stared back at me with a tired look.

“Don’t give me shit Indigo, I’m just following orders. She can’t be in here.” He turned to move Octavia and I jumped in front of her, blocking him from touching her.

“I don’t care what orders you have, I’d like you to try having a spine for once. We’re not on the Ark any more, Bellamy isn’t the Chancellor. Surely you realise how ridiculous this is?” I appealed and he rolled his eyes in response. I realised that using reason wouldn’t work as he was too dedicated and decided to try a different tactic. “And if not, then feel free to drag me outta here. But be warned, you saw how it went for the last one of Bellamy’s goons to put their hands on me. Your choice.” I held my position as he looked from me to Octavia, to the grounder and then finally back to me. He sighed in frustration and waved a hand at me. 

“Fuck it, I’ll ask Bellamy to deal with you.” He made his way to the ladder in a defeated manner and I shrugged disinterestedly at him. As soon as he was out of sight, I turned to Octavia. 

“We don’t have long. Here, I’ve still got the moonshine I borrowed for your arm. I can guarantee that whatever they jabbed through his hand wasn’t sterile so I’d get some alcohol on this wound, it might just be enough to prevent an infection if he’s lucky.” I explained my instructions in a rush as I passed the small flask that I’d hidden in my trousers to her and she took it from me gladly. 

“Thanks Indie, I’m glad you’ve got my back.” She breathed as she watched me with a warm smile.

“Always, my girl.” I smiled back. “Besides, this is insane.” I added, indicating to the grounder with a flinch. “We need to do as much damage control as we can. What can I do to help? I’m guessing he won’t let me touch him, can’t really blame him. I can find some extra rags, maybe bring more water if I can ninja back up here before Bellamy.” I forced a teasing smile despite the tension of the situation. She glanced up at the grounder with a tenderness that I hadn’t seen in her before and I watched her with interest. I was still uncomfortable with the strange situation between them but decided not to press on that just now. 

“I don’t know, you protected him and you’re with me. Maybe he’ll let you help?” She thought aloud as she kept her eyes trained on him. I glanced up at him and noticed that he was staring intensely down at me, as if he was trying to get the measure of me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I didn’t imagine for a second that they would do this.” I sighed as we made eye contact. My eyes roamed over the numerous wounds they had inflicted on him and I cringed. “Look, I know this is difficult, but we really don’t have long. Once Bellamy gets back up here, there’s not much I’ll be able to do to stop him. I’ll try my best but…”As I trailed off, he gently nodded at me and I startled unexpectedly. I stared back in disbelief for a moment, before forcing myself into action. I grabbed a fresh damp rag and approached him, gently wiping the blood and dirt from his face. Octavia finished cleaning his hand and glanced over at me. 

“They still haven’t found us.” She muttered in disbelief and I couldn’t help feeling that this was strange. I’d have expected to be dragged from here kicking and screaming by now. 

“Bellamy’s probably stomped off somewhere, you know what he’s like. My guess is Miller’s trying to find him.” I replied, voicing my thoughts as they ran through my mind. “Let’s not waste time. What else did they do to him?” I asked, rushing as I cleared any obvious blood from his skin.

“Bellamy whipped him with a seatbelt.” She answered reluctantly, glancing around at his back and wincing.

“God damn it Bellamy.” I growled under my breath. “Did it break the skin?” I asked, not really wanting an answer. Octavia nodded at me with tearful eyes. “Okay, get some alcohol on the wounds, it's gonna sting but god only knows what oil and crap is on those belts.” I instructed, as she rushed around to his back. I cleaned up all of the blood I could see, then jogged over to grab a bottle of water for him to drink. I gave him enough time to drink, then he pulled away from me. “I think we’ve done everything we can for now Tavi. You should get out before you get caught up here again. I’ll deal with your idiot brother.” I suggested gently.

Octavia looked at me reluctantly, then stared back at the grounder with remorse. After a few seconds of silently debating herself, she finally nodded in agreement. I spent a few minutes clearing up the items we’d used and tried to cover that we’d even been here whilst I had the opportunity. I caught the sound of footsteps and Bellamy stepped into the room.

“Indigo, what are you doing up here?” He asked in an irritable tone.

“I’m just checking on your torture victim. I’m doing what you seem to have forgotten how to do, treating him like a human being.” I spat, glaring at him furiously.

“What did you want me to do, let Finn die?” He yelled, throwing his hands up in a display of exasperation.

“No, don’t do that.” I growled, feeling frustrated that he would even try to fool me. “This was never about Finn, you bought him here before we even knew that he was poisoned. This was about you and your goddamn reckless behaviour!” I pointed at him aggressively, determined not to let him win me over with excuses this time. 

“You’re right, I bought him here for answers, to save all of us! They’re killing us Indigo and I need to know why!” His voice was growing aggressive now and I groaned in response. I opened my mouth to argue but he cut me off. “And then yes, I found out that Finn was poisoned and I did what I needed to. Clarke and Raven escalated it and I let them. Finn is still alive because of that.” He tried to justify himself and I scoffed in response.

“Don’t try to shift the blame Bellamy!” I exclaimed, calling him out for his excuses. “Yes, the girls did their part, I’m not denying that, but that just makes you all wrong. It doesn’t take away from your guilt! You want to be a good leader? You can start by taking control of a situation when people cross the line like they did tonight. You just stood there and let it happen!” I spat and realised that my voice was rising as I spoke. I took a breath and lowered to a disappointed hiss. “Better yet, lead by example - maybe don’t bring in a prisoner and set up a torture chamber in the first place, Christ!” I held my hands to my head in frustration, feeling myself growing impatient with him.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, staring at me with tired eyes and shuffled on the spot. He was clearly uncomfortable with my scrutiny and I could tell from his reaction that he wasn’t used to being held accountable in such a manner.

“I want you to stop behaving like a child! Think. Actually use your brain instead of just charging into the situation and destroying everything in your path.” I yelled and he startled at my words. I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself slightly, noticing that I was losing control.

“I am doing my best to protect you all, and you and Octavia make it unnecessarily hard.” He spat, causing me to grow furious again. “You can’t keep challenging me in front of everyone, I can’t tell the guys to make an exception every time you cause trouble, it raises too many questions-”

“I don’t need your protection, I can look after myself! I can floor your goonsquad just fine if they cause me problems. You’re not the fucking Chancellor Bellamy!” I was now screaming in fury and he stood stunned on the spot, staring at me wide eyed. I took a deep breath and slowed my breathing before continuing. “You can’t just use your following to do whatever you want, we may need leaders but we all need each other to survive and currently you’re just treating this like your own personal dictatorship. This was not okay!” I indicated toward the grounder as I spoke. “Your actions have consequences, for all of us. From what I know, it seems yours are already catching up to you.” I added poignantly. His eyes grew even wider in shock and his expression was of disbelief. “Octavia and I are a team, we deal with things together. It’s long past time for you to utilise us, confide in us, let us support you, instead of constantly fighting us.” I softened my voice to a reasonable tone and tried to guide him to consider my words instead of just rebuking me.

We stood in a heavy silence as he processed what I had just said and I watched him with interest. I hadn’t meant to tell him that I knew about what he’d done on the Ark, but it slipped out in my temper. It seemed when I was around him that I had just as loose a grip on my emotions as him. Octavia thought it was a risk for him to know that I knew his secret, that he may try to get rid of me, but I never felt in any danger from him. He was unpredictable and, at times, selfish, but I knew in my gut that he wouldn’t harm me. 

“Octavia wouldn’t support the shit I’ve done.” He muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear and I raised my brows in surprise.

“I understand how much you want to protect her. I get it, I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.” I empathised, finally starting to cool off.

“You don’t know shit.” He snapped, before quickly reigning himself in. “I can’t talk to you.” He turned on his heel and started back down at the ladder. I finally felt like I was getting somewhere with him, like he was about to confide in me, before he left. I paced around, trying to shake the thoughts from my head, but it proved impossible. I went to the bottom floor instead to check on Finn and although I was relieved to see him awake with Raven fussing over him, I noticed that Clarke seemed distressed. 

“What’s going on?” I asked with genuine concern, despite my annoyance with her earlier actions. I had to put my feelings aside and be responsible, as it seemed that something had happened here.

“Bellamy just left, the storm seems like it’s passing but I still really don’t think anyone should be out there yet.” She stared at the door and I felt my stomach flip. I knew he had a tendency to take off on his own when he felt overwhelmed, but this was not the time to do so.

“Okay, it’s fine, I’ll go get him.” I replied calmly, grabbing a jacket to cover myself and preparing to leave. 

“No, Indigo you can’t. Let me get a group together.” Clarke began but I cut her off.

“No, don’t get anyone. It needs to be just me. Look, it won’t take me long, if I’m out there for ages then you can send people to look for us. Just give me some time to talk to him, please.” I pleaded and Clarke looked sympathetic, nodding gently in agreement.

I grabbed a torch and headed out into the rain. It was much calmer than it had been earlier, but still far from pleasant to be in. It was much harder to navigate the camp now in the dark and rain and the destruction of the storm had transformed it into a challenging obstacle course. I wandered aimlessly through the destroyed tents and fallen trees, before I spotted Bellamy’s large stature in the same clearing I’d found him hiding in the last time he’d stormed off. 

“Bellamy! What are you doing out here?” I called out to him, but he didn’t seem to react to me at all. He stayed rooted to the spot with his back to me and I waited nervously.

“Go back, Indigo.” He replied coldly without even glancing over at me. I ran the rest of the way to him and grabbed his hand. He didn’t put up a fight as he was too surprised by the sudden contact and I dragged him to a small shelter that had somehow survived the storm. We struggled inside, with him reluctantly following me and although we were no longer in the direct rain, the structure creaked and rain dripped constantly through. I stood soaking wet with my hair sticking to my face and waited for him to speak, but he simply stared at the ground in a daze. 

“Why are you out here?” I asked, unable to fathom what could bring him out in this. No matter how he felt, he had to know that this was a ridiculous risk to take and I was disappointed in him for doing this. 

“I needed some time to think.” He replied cryptically and I sighed at his lack of explanation. 

“And you decided that outside in the dangerous storm was a better place to do that than in the dropship?”I questioned, looking at him in total bewilderment. He didn’t answer me, still staring at the same spot on the floor as if it was the most riveting thing he’d ever seen. I sighed deeply and wondered about the space, finding a spot to perch myself. I looked up at him, almost able to meet his eyes now that I was so far below him. “Well, I’m not going anywhere so you may as well talk to me.” I added with a determined tone as I waited. He sighed deeply and looked over to me, still not appearing to be fully in the moment as he battled his thoughts. 

“The situation with Octavia is more complicated than you realise.” He said firmly and as our eyes met he looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen on his face. I realised that I may have pushed too hard in our earlier argument and waited to see if he would indulge on the true issue that had motivated his behaviour tonight.

“Try me.” I replied quickly. I didn’t move, afraid that I could startle him. I sat perfectly still, even breathing slowly as I waited for him to speak.

“She’s all I have. We don’t always get along but she’s my blood. We’re all that’s left of our family. Our parents are gone and we didn’t grow up close to anyone else; our whole childhood was focused on hiding Octavia so we kept everyone else at a distance to avoid suspicion.” He explained, beginning to pace around as he spoke. “When I found out that she was being sent to Earth, I’d have done anything to be there to protect her.  I didn’t want to lose her. She’s all I have left to live for.” He paused for a minute to stare at his hands nervously and his words immediately struck a chord with me.

“I feel the same.” I replied quietly and he looked at me in confusion. “I may not have grown up with her, but she saved me. I know what it’s like to have no one, you know my story.” I shrugged and he watched me with interest. I hadn’t planned on sharing any more of my past with him, but I felt that it may help us to find some common ground if he understood my bond with his sister. “When I entered the Skybox, I was a broken person. I kept to myself, I didn’t know how to trust or even care anymore. I stayed that way for a long while.” I spoke in a soft thoughtful voice, and my honesty seemed to relax him slightly.

“So, what drew you to Octavia?” He asked curiously as he watched me and I was surprised to find that he was interested in our background. 

“Nothing.” I chuckled under my breath and he raised a brow at me. “She was just another face in the crowd of people who ignored me and that suited me fine. One day, I found out about my mother...I completely lost it. They had to send me to solitary to contain me. And somehow, Octavia managed to find a way into there. She just appeared out of the vents like it was the most ordinary thing.” I smiled at the memory and stared down at my hands. “I think she could hear me crying from her cell. So she just sat beside me and held my hand while I cried. I didn’t think I’d ever want human contact again until then. She sat all night without saying a single word. She just made sure that I didn’t suffer alone and it was the tipping point that made me feel like a person again.” I smiled and looked down to the ground, reflecting on how much had changed since then. 

“She’s always been compassionate.” Bellamy breathed with a smile and I was glad to see that he was emerging from the guarded state he’d been in when I found him out there. “But she said you looked after her?” He questioned and I wondered why Octavia hadn’t told him more about her time in the Skybox since we’d been here. 

“When I next saw her some of the other inmates were giving her a hard time, you know what they called her.” I looked at him and he nodded in agreement. They’d still referred to her as the girl under the floor even when we landed here and I was glad that I hadn’t heard the name since. “I stepped in to defend her on instinct. Before I knew it, I‘d committed what was left of my life in prison to protecting her and preparing her to take care of herself when she got out. I never thought for a moment that I’d see that day with her, especially not on Earth.” I chuckled in disbelief. When I finished speaking, Bellamy was watching me with a hint of fondness. He slowly moved across the space, and settled down to sit on the floor beside me. 

“Did she ever tell you that it was my fault she got caught?” He asked gently and I shook my head in confusion. “I had the stupid idea to take her out, just for one night. She was always so lonely and sad, I wanted to see her smile. There was a masquerade ball and I thought it was the perfect opportunity for her to blend in. I hadn’t long started working as a guard so I thought I could keep an eye on the situation and scare off anyone who started asking questions. Instead, the guards ended the party early and she couldn’t get out without passing a checkpoint. They took her away and I was completely powerless to stop it.” He balled his fists and I could feel the tension in him. I had heard this story before from Octavia, but it was strange to hear it from his perspective. It was plain to see that he carried the weight of his guilt from this mistake even to this day.

 “No wonder you felt like you had to save her.” I commented, and he glanced over at me quizzically. “You blame yourself for her arrest, so of course you’d do anything to save her from the punishment. I can see why you took the deal to get here. But Bellamy, that kind of guilt destroys you from the inside out.” I reasoned with an assertive tone as I viewed him, before sighing deeply. “I should know. I blamed myself for my mother's death so much that I almost joined her.” I confessed and his brows furrowed together in concern. “You can’t hold onto it, you have to let it go.” I breathed gently. 

“It was my idea for her to go to the party, that decision lies on me.” He stated firmly and I was unsure what else I could do to reach him. 

“And it was her choice to take the risk and go.” I argued, trying to play devil's advocate for him. 

“She trusted me to protect her!” He hissed and I jumped slightly at his reaction. “She didn’t really know what it was like outside of the room she lived in, what the risks were. It was my judgement to make and I failed her.” His voice started to raise again and I steeled myself as I continued to push him to reflect on his own feelings.

“She doesn’t blame you for that, she knows that you were trying to do something kind for her. She told me herself, she takes responsibility for her part in it.” I admitted, recounting some of my conversations about her arrest when in the Skybox. She’d reflected on the events and was able to understand her part in it after some time. “So why don’t you try letting go of at least her small portion of the guilt for a start?” I tried to be gentle whilst still giving the right prompts. I couldn’t just tell him what to think, that wouldn’t change anything. I needed to guide him to question his own beliefs if he was going to change for the better.

“No, it’s my fault. My sister, my responsibility.” He spat, resolute in clinging to the guilt of his actions. I sighed and watched him with a sympathetic gaze. I took a moment to choose my next words carefully, knowing that a misstep here could cause irreparable damage between us. 

“I’ve heard you say that before.” I muttered and he turned his face slightly from me. “It’s something important, right?” I asked gently and he continued to look away.

“Not really.” He deflected. I sat in silence for a while, allowing him time to decide whether he wanted to talk to me about it. He sighed deeply. “It’s just something my mother said when Octavia was born.” He spoke in a tone that tried to downplay his words. I stared at him with wide eyes but he avoided my gaze. I tried to cover my shock and concentrated on keeping my tone even and casual. 

“Wow. How old were you?” I asked in a forced tone of calm but I found it difficult to comprehend. I wasn’t sure if Octavia even knew this and I wondered how it would affect their dynamic if he were to tell her.

“I was seven.” He replied quietly. I struggled significantly now to keep my emotions in check and took a moment to steady myself. I was pleased that he was being so open with me but I feared judging the situation wrong, or crossing a line. I took a deep breath before speaking again. 

“That’s a lot to put on a seven year old.” I breathed, glancing at him with a sympathetic expression. 

“Maybe. But what else could she do? She had to rely on me to keep her secret.” Bellamy sounded defensive now and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You know the rule on the Ark, only one child per family. It was hard to explain to her that she could never leave the room, or go to school, or have any friends. We didn’t have a father to help, so I helped our mom to raise her.” He explained and I looked down at the ground nervously. I was so deep into this conversation now that it felt like there was no easy way out. I spoke slowly and carefully. 

“It’s an impossible situation...but, you did it. Octavia grew up and she’s still kicking. You can credit yourself for that.” I answered honestly and he scoffed in response, but didn’t say anything else. “Thing is, she isn’t a child anymore. Maybe it’s time to start trusting her a little more?” I suggested gently, afraid of his reaction.

“Right, cause she’s made such great decisions so far?” He scoffed, glancing at me in annoyance.

“Look, I’m not saying let her wander off to live in the woods, but we all make mistakes. You’re not the only one watching out for her anymore, so maybe you don’t need to let your need to protect her be completely your responsibility?” He considered me carefully as I spoke and I hoped that my words were reaching him. “I’m not trying to act like I know her better because she’s your sister, but from what I know of Octavia, the harder you try to hold onto her, the harder she’ll fight against you. Give her a little more freedom and she might just surprise you. Think about it, please.” As he met my eyes, he looked at me in amazement and I smiled. “Now, could we get back to the safety of the dropship?”

[randomfandomimagine]

Fate Is Sealed. Chapter 12

Fandom: John Wick

Ship: John x Elizabeth (OC)

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Read it on AO3!!

That time I spent with John almost managed to make me forget about the real world, about the assassins and the debts and the danger. And then the nightmares found me again, not allowing me any more of a respite.

My footsteps were firm as I approached Gaige’s building, my determination being unshakeable as I told my heart to stop racing. Nonetheless, I gripped the gun in my hand so tightly that my fingers hurt.

I noticed a lack of noise as I stood before the door. The lights were on inside, but there was a very telling silence that caused my stomach to churn. I ignored all of this and adamantly swung the door open to reveal the office.

There where dozens of goons usually reunited, tending to their devious business, were now empty chairs and desks. Several bottles of alcohol were all over the place, opened and unfinished. The air felt heavy and eerie.

Daring to walk further and head for Gaige’s personal office, I found the door already open. There was no one in sight, not even Gaige himself. Treading lightly, I immersed myself in the room and took an attentive look around.

For the most part, everything seemed in its place. I looked at Gaige’s empty chair, noticing a blood stain that had soaked through the thick fabric. If he had been sitting there when he obtained that wound, it would have gone directly to his heart. I had a vague idea of what happened, and who did it.

Shaking my head to focus on the task ahead, I went through the drawers looking for a specific file. My eyes scanned the folders, absently recognizing familiar faces of goons I had run into thanks to Gaige. A tightness formed on my throat when I passed Delfino and Dominic’s files. But right after theirs, I found the headshot of a woman at the front of a folder.

I opened the file reading ‘Simone Brasher’ and skimmed for any important information that would tell me where she was hiding. A certain address caught my eye, so I memorized it and slammed the file closed.

As I made my way outside the building, I pulled out my phone and dialed John’s number. The mixture of emotions I was experiencing clouded my judgment, but I was lucid enough for that.

The line beeped for several seconds, until there was as click followed by a deep voice that I knew very well.

“Eli-?” Before he could even finish his sentence, I impatiently interrupted him.

“Why did you do it when I told you not to?” Every fiber of my being was overcome by anger, and I could not control myself. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I felt powerful for once, and that sensation was intoxicating.

“Do what?” John’s tone was somewhat soft and innocent.

“You know what” I scoffed in annoyance. “I doubt Gaige and his people magically disappeared”

John sighed on the other end, taking several seconds before replying.

“Elizabeth, he went after me again” A pang of guilt initiated in my nape, but I repressed it before it could take over my mighty fury.  

“Interesting, our business clash again” I sarcastically replied, giving him a mocking smirk even if he couldn’t see it.

“This isn’t you…” John lowered his voice to a sad murmur. “Where… Where are you?”

“On my way to make some justice” When I reached my bike, I climbed on it again. “About time”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!” He suddenly exclaimed in frustration. “And even if you don’t, you know this is wrong. You’re not like this!”

“Don’t look for me” Was all I said before hanging up, even if the slight guilt from before returned stronger.

I grunted in annoyance to myself as I grabbed on to the handlebars of my motorbike and started the engine. I had to do this.

Like I had told John, I needed to do something. I was done sitting still and taking all that abuse, being manipulated and frightened. Feeling small and unsafe. Acting like John Wick seemed the best way to do it.

As I put the bike to a halt I could see the docks. Not far from them was a small rundown warehouse. The windows were broken and the humidity had eaten through the wood that coated the outside. But I knew it was the place.

Wielding my gun again, I walked towards the warehouse. That was it, the point of no return. And I was willing to do whatever it took, to let whatever to happen. I just needed to act no matter what. It was something I had to do.

The door was halfway open, and inside I found a figure facing its back to me. I recognized the expensive clothes and the blonde ponytail. She looked over her shoulder with the sound of my footsteps.

“You just can’t have enough, can you?” Simone stood up from her the big crate she was sitting in and turned to me. “You were really stupid to come here”

I frowned when I noticed her mascara had run over her cheeks, leaving dark traces along her skin. I was distracted from that detail when she took a step closer to me. Even if several meters still separated us, I grit my teeth and lifted my arm to point the gun at her. She didn’t even bat an eye at the movement.

“You’re gonna pay” She bitterly said, continuing her advance. “Your boyfriend killed my friends. And my boss”

“Maybe they shouldn’t have tried to kill him” I offered, tilting my head. “And maybe you shouldn’t have murdered my father in cold blood”

“He had unfinished business with Gaige when he retired” Simone smirked, portraying a mockingly friendly and innocent voice. “What kind of an example would that set?”

“He would have paid it” Winston himself had said it, my father was good at his job, he had plenty of money. “Gaige didn’t want him dead, dammit, he would have paid it”

“You see, I wasn’t so sure about that” Her condescending attitude was making my blood boil. “And sure enough, one day all records of his money were gone”

My bike. He bought me an expensive motorbike so I could be independent, and he left the rest of the money for me so I could make it on my own. He knew he was going to get killed.

Forcing myself out of my thoughts, I focused back on her and got startled when I realized how much closer she was to me now. I cocked the gun as a warning, but that didn’t hinder her advance towards me.

“And I’m going to kill you” When I piped up, she finally stopped walking.

“Very funny, Lizzie” Smirking still, she crossed her arms over her chest. “He used to call you that, you know. Wouldn’t stop talking about you, Lizzie this, Lizzie that”

Before I could stop myself, I had pulled the trigger and landed a bullet on her upper arm, putting a hole through her shiny jacket. She glared up at me in outrage after checking her new wound in disbelief.

I mockingly wrinkled my nose in response, glad of my impulsive act. I was going to kill her, but she was going to suffer first.

Determined, I took a step forward just for her to hinder my advance. Out of nowhere, she had pulled out a dagger and thrown it at me. I grunted when I felt the blade sinking in my shoulder, just above my collarbone.

I didn’t drop the gun, and in fact I tightened my grip on it. I felt out of myself as I took ahold of the dagger encrusted in my skin with my free hand and pulled it out, screaming in a sound that didn’t seem to come out of my own throat.

A fleeting thought told me that maybe pulling it out wasn’t the best idea, but it soon passed when it was replaced with a lack of any logical reasoning.

“This is for calling me a bitch” Watching Simone’s smirk only further fueled the liquid fire in my veins, and I once again moved without thinking about it twice. Barely stopping to look at the bloody dagger in my hand, I threw back at her with as much force as I could. It tore a yelp of pain from her lips as it sunk into her thigh.

Doing the same as I did, she sharply pulled the dagger out of her leg and wielded it fiercely. I raised my gun and pointed it at her as a warning. Neither of us moved at first, seizing each other up.

A little voice was shouting for me to shoot her already, but the gun felt extremely heavy in my hand. There were so many dazed thoughts rushing through my head that I couldn’t focus on one.

I wrapped my other hand around the butt of the gun to stabilize my aim, but Simone was already on the move. I pulled the trigger, but failed as I was rattled by the ferocity with which she ran to me. The bullet got lost in the distance and so I decided to stick to what I did best. Close range hand to hand combat.

"You never had the stomach for this" Simone smirked, ready to take me on.

I lunged at her, tackling Simone to the ground. We struggled for several seconds, landing punches on each other until I was suddenly pushed on my back and pinned against the ground. I tried wiggling out of her lock but found that she was too strong.  

I grabbed a handful of dirt and tossed it at her face. Simone tried turning her head, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid it getting into her eyes. I smirked at the thought that I had played dirty and momentarily blinded her.

Jumping to my feet, I took her from behind and put her in a lock of my own, cocking the gun and resting it against her temple. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and my heartbeat drummed against my ears. I watched Simone as she shut her eyes tight, cringing at what might happen next. A pang of guilt struck my chest as I found a twisted satisfaction at the sight.

“Drop the gun!” A voice said out of nowhere, forcing me to look upwards.

I gulped when I saw a group of six people surrounding me, all pointing weapons at me. That snake had called for backup. I didn’t know how or when, but she had.

Gritting my teeth, I held my hands up in surrender and let go of her. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain the anger I felt when I heard her scornful chuckle. I was tempted to shoot her still, even if it would definitely trigger my own death.

“Drop it” Simone held her hand up, smirking as her other hand motioned over to the people threatening my life to get closer.

I begrudgingly gave her my gun, which she took with a mocking head nod. At least I felt a slight pride at the fact that she considered me enough of a threat now to call for backup. Even if it was through John’s influence.

“Any last words?” She said, lifting the gun up to my head.

I still felt out of breath, like I had run a marathon. But my hatred for her was so great that I refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing I was frightened.

“You’re still a bitch” I bitterly said, earning a glare from her.

"Shoot her" Was her response to my defiance.

I closed my eyes, prepared for death. After all, I had always known it was the only way out of that mess. I had merely postponed it, but I had always believed it was my destiny, that my fate was sealed to meet a violent end. At least I had found some good things on the way to my demise.

“I wouldn’t do that” My heart skipped a beat when I recognized that gruff voice.

Opening my eyes, I saw John approaching us, machine gun in hand ready to fire. The men and women working with Simone hesitated. I calmly lowered my arms back to my sides at the sight of him approaching.

“Lower your weapons” He said, a calm yet clear order.

They didn’t even wait for Simone’s approval, all of them instantly obeyed the Boogeyman’s order. The tension was tangible in the air as all the present at the moment eyed each other.

“Elizabeth” John called, startling me slightly for directly addressing me. “Go”

“But-“

“I’ll handle this”

“John…”

“Go!”

I recognized the dangerous look in his dark eyes and decided to oblige. I didn’t want him solving my business, but I knew he could easily take them all.

It was my chance to fix that mistake, to forgive about that quest for revenge before it was too late. Although I realized it was already too late when Simone, wanting to punish me for my audacity with the attempt on her life, followed after me.

“Shit shit, fuck” I muttered, taking my other gun and running at top speed.

As I let my legs do their job, I focused on my shaky hands to make sure that the magazine was charged and then shoved it back on its chamber.  

Hoping I would outrun Simone, I rummaged through my brain in search of a safe place I could go to. My train of thought was interrupted when I heard gunshots, so I looked over my shoulder without stopping my dash.

John had resorted to his Boogeyman ways again as he easily took the six of them at once. He even allowed himself the distraction of blindly shooting Simone to slow her down and give me an advantage. The blonde screamed when the bullet reached her leg, but she continued her pursue on me.

I focused up ahead again, taking advantage of her small pause to recover from the wound and running for my life.

The Continental was the safest and closest place I could think of, so I barged inside and hurried for the elevator without even saying hello to Charon.

Simone was far behind me, but I was pretty sure that she had seen the direction I was taking and assumed where I was headed. It was a matter of time before she reached me, so I hoped I would at least lose her on the many floors of the hotel building. I didn’t exactly trust her not to break the rules.

I ran to the elevator and waited for it to arrive. The anxiety was building up in my chest as I knew that every millisecond was immensely valuable. Once it arrived, I quickly opened the grills door, but before I could come in, someone grabbed me from behind.

I screamed as a hand tugged at me and grimaced when my back hit the ground. The sight of Simone looking absolutely feral took my breath away, or maybe how hard I landed.

“Excuse me!” I heard Charon’s voice exclaim, probably alarmed by my screaming.

Simone grunted in annoyance and carelessly threw me inside the open elevator, following closely behind and pressing a button so the doors would close.

Charon was arriving just as the grill that served as doors closed. I stared at him from the ground, bearing a begging expression that I hoped he would understand. My anxiety intensified when I saw his familiar face disappear as the elevator went up.

While she was distracted with him, I jumped to my feet and pushed her against the metallic door. Before she could turn around, I punched her in the kidney.

Right after, she did turn around –at an incredible speed –and crossed my face with her fist. I stumbled backwards, causing the elevator to shake but luckily not stop. The last thing I needed was to be stuck in an elevator with Simone.

I reached out with my hand to stabilize myself as it touched the wall and leaned against it, holding my jaw in pain. She was already prepared to retaliate, so I kneed her under the chin. As I lunged at her to try and attack, she quickly held me in a lock.

I was pushed against the wall, then she held my head by the hair and slammed it against the fluorescents. She repeated the process until I painfully felt it break against my forehead, as well as some blood dripping from the cut.

Not content with this, Simone continued smashing my head against the now broken lights. Although I felt slightly faint and my ears were ringing, probably because of a mild concussion, I gathered the strength to hold my hands against the wall to try and offer some resistance to her blows.

Just then, the elevator stopped moving and the doors opened. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction from her side, I pushed her against the corner and stumbled outside of the elevator.

I swore under my breath when I realized we were in a floor filled with locked rooms. I was trapped.

The corridor was absolutely deserted, only a room service cart parked against a wall. Simone casually walked over to it, watching it with curiosity, as she pulled out the gun she had taken from me.

Feeling the skin in my face tight and wet because of the blood that was drying out, I grimaced at her. She was far too calm, and she didn’t seem upset at all that we were now in sacred ground. In fact, she showed me a smug smirk.

“You know the rules” I reminded her, my eyes never leaving her as she lifted the top off a silver tray from the cart.

She ignored me as she eyed the untouched food and shook her head a little. Then her eyes focused on the bottle that contained a dark liquid.

“I’m so thirsty” She muttered, taking the time to pour some of the alcohol in a glass and sniff it.

“Put the gun down” I insisted, watching how she carelessly waved it around while pretending to point at the food. “There are rules here”

Simone took a sip of the drink and smirked at me again, lowering her gun but not dropping it. It felt like she was teasing me, torturing me as much as she could.

“Glad we settled it” She grinned in amusement. “Killing your father wasn’t a big deal anyway”

The helplessness that had engulfed me faded away with her words. It was then when I remember that I still had a gun. I wouldn’t hesitate.

“Say that again, you bitch” I muttered through grit teeth, glaring daggers at her.  

She then lifted her arm, gun still in hand. Simone furrowed her brow in determination and I acted on instinct. I startled myself as I wielded my gun and pulled the trigger.

I watched in awe, the bullet hole pouring blood in her forehead.

Like it had burned me, I dropped the weapon to the ground and looked for something to hold on to. My knees felt weak as she fell limply on the ground. Her body landed with a thud. She wouldn’t get up again.

I let out a strangled scream as I realized what I had done. A commotion started out around me, since the gunshot had attracted attention.

Falling to my knees, I covered my mouth to try and conceal the loud sobs that escaped it, but to no avail. Tears tainted my vision as my eyes fixed on the motionless body of Simone.

There was no turning back now, and that peace I hoped to experience after Simone was dead was nowhere to be found. I only felt sick. I couldn’t breathe.

I had killed her. I had broken the Continental rules. I had behaved like a bloodthirsty assassin, like that very thing I refused to become. Like the thing I resented my father for being. Like the thing I feared John Wick for being.

And now I had become my own worst nightmare. I had broken my own rule.

Everything dimmed around me, the voices and sounds of alarm. Doors swinging open and footsteps. It all became faint and distant.

I felt disgusting as I knelt there, having no consolation other than bawling my eyes out and whimpering in a pathetic manner. There was no solace for me now.

“Liz!” Someone approached me, dropping to their knees and obstructing my field of vision. I hadn’t noticed my eyes were still on Simone, I was too numb to realize or look away. “Liz! What happened?”

I couldn’t respond, I couldn’t answer the question. All I could do was continue crying, wishing I hadn’t pulled the trigger. Silent tears streamed down my face as the shock lingered.

“What have you done?” The voice insisted, taking me by the shoulders.

“I-I’m sorry…” I choked out, reaching out to touch them as my foggy brain finally registered who I was talking to. “I’m so s-s-sorry…”

“It’s okay, I’m here” Cradling my head against his chest, he sheltered me in his embrace. “It’s alright now”

“No, I k-killed her” Came my strangled voice. “She was gonna shoot me and I…”

“I know” He rocked me slightly, protectively wrapping his arms around me as his hand lingered against my head, keeping it close to his chest.

“I’m sorry, John”

“I know…”

Tag list: @lea-kenneth / @lookinsidemyhead / @ciccithedreamer / @writerandee / @contanto-que-voce-me-queira / @recentcrib8422 / @anita-e-taylor / @elena-mayfair / @fyspidey / @mell-bell / @yes-captainstark / @quentinbecksass / @buckysjuicyplums / @misfvit / @e-lysium / @alluna-naozumi / @alainabooks143 / @superbateclipseclod / @angelenemies / @hopeinahotbox / @deaadenn / @spacepari / @piaeforever21 / @thecraziestcrayon / @homeybadger // Let me know if you want to be added or taken off this tag list!!

[roll3d6inorder]

Rolling 3d6 in order, we get:

Str 10

Dex 6

Con 17

Int 12

Wis 8

Cha 8

I like the look of that constitution. Everything else is a bit of a wash, but nothing so bad we can’t get up from it. This one is really going to come down to race and class, though. Heavy armor would be great, or some way to leverage our Constitution or Intelligence. We’ve just got to pray.

Dragonborn

Rogue

The Platinum Dragon has a sense of humor. This is going to be a challenge.

Str 12

Cha 9

So, we have no Dexterity, meaning we can’t multiclass. At least not without sacrificing way too many ASI’s. Looking at the positives, we get extra strength, meaning that we can at least add a positive modifier to attacks we make with finesse weapons. The best we can do at range is throw a dart or a dagger. We still get sneak attack, but if we’re not likely to hit it doesn’t do us much good. That means getting strength up is a priority. Our dexterity is a lost cause, meaning we have to hide under a suit of heavy armor, but it’s going to take us at least two half-feats to get. Thanks to our impressive Constitution we can (with some reservation) wait on it. At least we can use our Con to be really good with our breath weapon for as often as we’re going to use that.

The real tough choice here is which archetype to go for, which for the Rogue is really hard because they’re all really good! We can eliminate Inquisitive, Swashbuckler, and Thief immediately because they rely on attributes we do not have. Assassin isn’t great for us either. Scout is never bad, Mastermind could be good for a Rogue that stays on the back lines, Arcane Trickster would give us some flexibility... I have to leave this one up to lore, and the lore that I like best for a Drabonborn Rogue would be the Green Dragon Mastermind. Let’s go to the backstory:

Medofan had a happy childhood, as most products of the Green Dragons do. And yet unlike most, little was ever expected of her. She never had the tongue for lies, nor the swiftness for sneaking. Eventually, she and her mother came to an understanding that she was not fit for the same training as her older siblings, and that she would have to find her own path. Being a young dragonborn, with support for her finances, first experiencing the world, the beginning of her path was clear. Partying. A lot of wild, alcohol-fueled partying! In fact, she became so good at drinking socially that it earned her the respect of her peers. She had always tried to deceive lesser beings into service to her, but she discovered it was easier to win their loyalty by carousing. They began to rely on her for her level head and clarity of vision, even in the depths of drink and debauchery. What was just fun and games in her youth lead to many more serious opportunities in her adulthood; organizing gangs, recruiting for covert societies, and even acting as an agent of the queen’s covert bodyguard. Medofan hasn’t seen her mother since she left, but she likes to think that she would be proud of where she ended up.

Level 1

Background: Far Traveler

Insight and Perception

Rogue 1

Athletics, Deception, Investigation, and Persuasion

Experise

Perception and Persuasion

Level 2

Rogue 2

Level 3

Rogue 3

Mastermind

Level 4

Rogue 4

Str 14

Level 5

Rogue 5

Level 6

Rogue 6

Expertise

Athletics and Deception

Level 7

Rogue 7

Level 8

Rogue 8

Moderately Armored

Str 15

Level 9

Rogue 9

Level 10

Rogue 10

Heavily Armored

Str 16

Not much mechanical synergy to this build. Mostly just lore synergy. I do like that picking the Green Dragon option with our high Constitution means that being hit by poison is twice as useless against us. Probably it’s more optimal to resist fire, especially when our Dex save is average at best, but sometimes it’s preferable to have a talent you’re committed to. The Rogue is a very flexible class, and we get plenty out of it despite not being sneaky (though we’re pretty good at disguising ourselves and passing for someone else). She’s more about barking orders at her goons, breathing deadly airborne poison on her enemies, and keeping herself safe by whatever means she’s got. She’s not a gifted soul, but she’s competent, she’s grounded, and she keeps the team together.

Hope you enjoyed this one. I was thinking I might switch it up and do a Pathfinder character soon. Probably 2e so I’m not overwhelmed by the options. 

Happy Rolling!

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Winner’s Curse Ch. 11

Yep this is a long one, and I’m sorry since it’s mainly an exposition chapter. But I was trying to set up familial ties and character dynamics and inner conflict so it kinda came out like this...Though I’ll admit it may not be the best, I still enjoy it and I hope you do too. Especially with the obscure references. I hope someone can guess whose children, the new characters that appear at the very end are. 

“Did you get any news last night?” Aziz sighed when he saw Jordan’s pinched frown.

It was early dawn and the small group was waking up to the smell of stale coffee, the garbage cans, and preparing to start the day.

They had been at it for four days now. Jordan, Jay in his goon disguise Calix magicked up for him, and Calix would leave to meet Uma at the castle and look around for any important documents and spy, always coming back around midnight or later when he and Lala were already fast asleep from full day of frustration and confusion.

Their days were like the blind leading the blind since Aziz didn’t know anything or anyone here, and Lala didn’t frequent the urban section of the Isle enough to know who to potential recruit or where anything was.

They did the best they could with mixed results. Asking questions like “Where is the Aladdin-hating club?” or “Do you want to overthrow tyranny?” was met with suspicion. To be fair, most questions Aziz asked were met with suspicion, even what he thought were innocent ones like the bathroom. He still hadn’t got an answer to that last one and he was a bit concerned.

They had tried following particularly bad-tempered and miserable folks to see if they could be goaded into joining a revolution, but it was clear that no matter how unhappy people were, they weren’t willing to fight against the Coven.

Yesterday, they broke through with one small lead. That lots of minor followers like the Forty Thieves and Hun soldiers, and Hook’s crew liked to go to Gaston’s bar, and tended to have loose lips about their bosses’ going-ons after three kegs of beer. Aziz was hoping in their alcohol-fueled state, they would divulge where to find big guns like Clayton or Morgana. Or at least rile them up to join their people’s revolt.

Jay stretched and yawned, and rubbed the dusty window pane that showed the backroom of Jafar’s Junk Shop. The alleyway behind it was their current sleeping place.

Aziz had wanted to ask why they didn’t just sleep inside since it had been confirmed that the Coven members rarely left Maleficent’s castle and that Jafar’s Junk Shop had been closed for weeks. There was no chance of them getting caught but he sensed that would be a sensitive topic.

There was a certain sort of sadness, nostalgia and perhaps even fear that crossed Jay’s face whenever he peered through the windows which was quite often. Usually when he thought no one was looking.

But Aziz was always observing people around him. He just found it fascinating to watch people’s quirks. Those quirks were always so telling of what people, and usually hinted at something going on beneath the surface of those perfect princess smiles or in this case, the suave confidence of a thief.

From what little he knew of Jay’s relationship with his father was that though Jafar had been neglectful, Jay had idolized the man and was still having a hard time breaking away from all the lessons he had been taught and encouraged over the years such as focusing on himself and viewing relationships as a give-and-take rather than a bond of mutual trust and equality.

Perhaps Jay was remembering his childhood sitting in that junk shop with useless shiny baubles, waiting for praise to be turned away to  get something better.

But Aziz’ thoughtful imaginings of the potential inner workings of Jay’s mind soured as he saw Jay take another discreet glance around the group to see if anyone was watching, looked directly past him, and then turned to look through the window again.

Maybe Jay did know Aziz was watching but didn’t care.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone looked right through Aziz. After all, he was apparently a forgettable despite the prestige behind his parentage and what he thought were moderately sizzling good looks.

Very rarely was he featured in Auradon news. Is name was always behind more well-known princes like Chad and Ben or even behind Doug since the media loved the story of the Evil Queen’s daughter falling in love with a dwarf.

It was the same in his own kingdom. He was the third child, third for the throne. Well, second since Zahrat formally relinquished any rights to becoming sultana to Cassima. And he doubted Cassima would ever tire of the job of being Sultana.

It was not like he wanted to be Sultan, but since he was not heir to the throne, people didn’t pay much attention. He wasn’t like the other princes who had royal training for ruling and their marriages and lives planned out.

He was on his own, and his pursuits of parkour, and people-watching and the occasional theft was not that interesting enough to make him stand out.

Unless it was Jay who did it. When Jay did parkour or thievery, people immediately noticed it was he. People easily recognized his swagger and smirk.

Whereas he was a pale imitation of his father, and inferior skill set to Jay to boot.

That’s why Jordan chose him to scour the streets of the Isle without a disguise. In her words, “Aziz you’re great at blending in with a crowd, no one will even notice you. They’ll just think you’re the son of one of the forty thieves or something.”

He blended with the crowd. He looked like any other prince. Like any other thief. Forgettable.

“Day 4 of Castle Reconnaissance has brought no new results. It sucks.” Jordan sighed dramatically, and turned around to pace by the dead-end of the alleyway, tapping at the earchip Carlos had given her. “I’m going to talk Ben and Evie,and see what we should do next if results don’t come quickly.”

“Fine, can you at least give me some baklava before I head out?” Aziz asked which Jordan casually did with a snap of her fingers and a warm piece of baklava appeared in his hands.

“Oh, you’re talking to Ben and Evie. What did the say about Uma?” Jay jumped up to join her and Aziz rolled his eyes.

Jay was still admentally against Jordan’s decision to team up with Uma, and had been hoping the two would agree with him that it was a bad decision and no matter what happened, they wouldn’t help her or Harry or the rest of her crew off the Isle.

However, Ben and Evie both were of the mind to give Uma, and her crew a chance since Ben felt like she had a valid point of how he had broken his pledge to invite other kids off the Isle. Evie believed that every teen on the Isle deserved a chance to grow their potential in Auradon, and that everyone included Uma.

Aziz did agree with Jay that it was probably a bad idea to trust Uma, and an even worse one to promise her a chance to go to Auradon, but he trusted Jordan more. She wasn’t naive, and she undoubtedly was inwardly preparing herself for ways to combat an inevitable betrayal. He also knew that Jordan was still insecure about her role as leader and was probably glad to latch on to Uma who was so put-together and already a respected captain.

“Finally, you’re ready.” Lala got up from where she was polishing her spear, dangerously close to the nose of a still-sleeping Calix.

“Well, you know how it is, I’m a pampered prince. I don’t wake at sunrise like you common hunters.” Aziz faked the haughty air that Chad often used which Lala answered with an eye-roll and mock curtsey.

Surprisingly, he and Lala had settled into a comfortable rapport despite only knowing each other for a week and forced to complete a fruitless, irritating task together.

They worked efficiently together, studying potential targets to follow and ask, and shared the bond of being bored and hangry as they walked through the dusty, surprisingly cold streets. They even shared some jokes over some exceptionally dumb sidekicks getting the boot or wonderings of how one could stoicly walk around with a six arrow embedded into their shoulder like a pincushion. She called him a pampered prince and he jokingly humored her by acting the part.                        

It probably helped that Lala didn’t think much of him to treat him with hostility.

On the second day of their recruiting mission together, she made a joke, and Aziz didn’t stop himself from saying, “The jungle princess is capable of joking?”

Lala shrugged and replied, “Well, you’re not much of a threat to me. I can relax. I mean you’re so quiet and not such a loud-mouth fake like Jay or anything really. You’re like…. hmm like a sidekick. You observe. You’re not going to outshine me or be able to go up against anyone.”

“He was so quiet.” “Not a threat.” Not like Jay who always managed to draw attention. He didn’t come up with witty lines on the spot like his father.

He was like a supporting character. Friendly, smart, capable of surprising people, but not very special.

He tried. Allah knew he tried. He maintained his grades. He was great at conversation with adults, he studied up on foreign affairs and he could charm diplomats with his mom like a pro. He did tourney and he practiced as much as he could, but he didn’t want to get so over muscled as Herkie as to not being able to perform his usual flips through Agrabah’s alleyways. He loved to go to the dances, and going on adventures in the dunes with some street rats during vacation. He did all the things that fellow royals did, his father did, all the heros did.

And the secret thing was that though he had fun, he always felt like an exhausted, nervous wreck after every single event.

He was never able to stop his mind from thinking during the conversation. Thinking of what he was going to say, if what he wanted to say was stupid or lame, what if the other person got offended, what did the person mean. He would think of a bunch of conversational scenarios, ones geared toward topics he knew, and witty remarks he could use, but those never went into effect because it felt awkward to try. He didn’t want to appear like he was trying too hard.

He was only able to relax and stop those racing thoughts with people he had known for years like his family or Ben and Lonnie. But with others..he always ended up listening more than talking.

He was perfectly fine listening to people. He didn’t feel the need to add useless, extraneous remarks just so he could talk. He would talk when he had something meaningful to say. That’s why he and Jordan got along so well because when she felt like it, she could talk for hours and Aziz could listen to it.

When he listened to others talk about a school scandal, he could hear all the different views and biases and piece together what happened, he could analyze their actions and motives, and why they were reacting in a certain way. It was like a psychological puzzle, and standing behind and listening allowed him to glean more information and more pieces to add in. 

For example, everyone saw that Audrey had dyed her hair to match her mother, and assumed it was ‘save face’ after Ben publicly dumped her for Mal, pretending she was over it. Aziz had seen Queen Leah berate Audrey, and surmised that the hair dye was less a reputational pressure but at the influence of familial pressure.  

Jordan said he was an amateur psychoanalyst which amused her because she liked listening to his theories about the motives of their classmates; Yet it annoyed her when the tables turned and he tried to encourage her to talk about her feelings like a normal person. She always shut it down with, “Not now, Sherlock Freud. Analyzing me is off-limits.”

Yet in this world, he was required to contribute to the conversation or else, people would forget he was there. Being the backgrounder he was he already heard other students discuss party invitations and he was left off the list since he was ‘boring” and ‘just there.” On the other hand, he was also invited to parties for the same reason. He was so forgettable that it didn’t matter to people if he was in the room or if he wasn’t.

Rationally, he knew he wasn’t boring. He had great stories to tell, and if anyone asked, he would take them for an adventure of a lifetime in the dunes of Agrabah, and teach them tips to tame wild horses, but that wasn’t how people saw him. People usually went by first impressions, and he wasn’t interesting enough to warrant a deeper look.

Though he tried to change and be outgoing as was expected for a prince- He asked his dad for advice under the guise of flirting tips, he memorized Genie’s standup routines, he forced himself to attend every one of the Tourney teams fundraising events, games, and afterparties- But he was always outshone by the other extroverted people in the room. He could act outgoing, but it was always harder for him. It was never going to be enough compared to those who were naturally outgoing. There was always going to be someone better than him.

“Aziz,” Lala snapped her fingers in front of him, “Stop zoning out, and let’s go to the bar.” “You know where the bar is? Yesterday, you said you knew where the docks were and led us to Facilier’s shop.” Aziz said. “It smelled like sea water.” Lala defended.

“It was bayou water. I’m pretty sure bayou water should smell different than sea water.” Aziz retorted.

“Whatever. I do know where Gaston’s bar is though. I have actually been there before, and you find it by following the crowd.” Lala nodded toward what was indeed a large crowd of shuffling, drunk-looking men and women shoving each other to enter the large front entrance that boasted moose antlers in front.  

Due to their healthier bodies and sober states, Aziz and Lala were easily able to edge through the sluggish crowd and enter the vast bar area with its permanently wet and sticky floor, numerous wooden tables and roaring French-styled fireplace.

Lala didn’t slow down, tugging Aziz’ arm to go to the backroom where another door led them to a junkyard with more tables, and a hastily constructed wrestling ring with a cage.

They sat down at the nearest table, and began their wait, disinterestedly watching the current match between a Hun and the infamous Stanley that was on Gaston’s team. But their primary focus was on the patrons surrounding them, unfortunately none looked like Agrabahian or like a sea monster in cahoots with Morgana. He did spot one young woman who looked like a more sinister version of Cruella if her black and white hair and maniac smirk was anything to go by.

A few minutes went by when their silent observation was interrupted by a voluptuous yet haggard blonde barmaid with a tray of ribs that were half boiled, and what looked like mold surrounding the edges, “You’re Lala, right? Dad sent this. Good. Enjoy. Bye.”

“Oh, thank you.” Lala flusteredly broke off a bone marrow and handed it to him.

“Your dad’s here?” Aziz looked around trying to spot another Atlantean in the crowd just as everyone jumped up to cheer when the Hun body-slammed Stanley against the cage and began beating him with his own hands. “Wait..you know your dad? I thought most Vks--”

“Most Vks don’t know both their parents, it’s true. But my dad stayed around a little longer. Stop looking around like that, you look like a frantic meerkat. He’s not out here. He must have seen me when we were inside or something. I’m kinda easy to spot with the white hair and all.” Lala said, chewing a bit too nonchalantly on a bone.

“I guess he must have liked you enough for him to send-” Aziz began to say but Lala held up a hand.

“Now don’t get your little happy Auradon beliefs up. He doesn’t like me. I remind him too much of my mom. The women who tried to strangle him. If he comes out to greet us which I sincerely doubt he would ever, you’ll see the marks around his neck. He’ll give you an action-packed story of how he fought off Turblat with only his bare hands, but it wasn’t the gorilla. It was mom.”

“Oh okay,” Aziz deflated a bit. He wasn’t as naive as Lala, and Jay and Uma seemed to think he was. He couldn’t imagine villains like Jafar or the Evil Queen would find it in their selfish hearts to love their children, he was just surprised that Lala seemed to have some sort of relationship with her other parent, and what he thought was a good one with free food. “I can imagine that your dad doesn’t love you as I know most parents love their children. But he hates you specifically because you remind him of Queen La? It’s not like you’re the same.” Aziz said before sheepishly adding, “And would I know who he is? Is he a villain? Or is he just a sidekick?” 

“Ha! My mom sleeping with a sidekick? That’ll be the day. My dad’s Muviro. He came from the same tribe as her. Though they didn’t know each other then, and got exiled at different times. And I am like my mom. I look like her. I’m jealous like her.” Lala fiddled with her food.

“You’re not..” Aziz was about to protest, but he trailed off. The Core 4 had proven that they weren’t like their parents, but that didn’t mean they didn’t share the same flaws as their parents, and weren’t capable of acting like them in some moment of anger or weakness. He remembered that Lala wasn’t helping them out of a sense of moral righteousness, she was getting a wish out of this, a wish to have her own kingdom. She wasn’t one of the good guys. 

“What do you mean?” Aziz asked, automatically getting riveted with what he imagined should be an intriguing backstory.

Lala hesitated and Aziz could imagine cat-like hackles rising as she trained her slitted cat eyes at him. She looked like she was about to snap with some comment to put him in his place, but then her eyes softened as she considered his face.

She must have remembered how she didn’t consider him a threat and began to speak.

“Well my mom, and dad..um I guess. I don’t know how to say this. I know they weren’t in love. There is no such thing here. But they stayed together for a while. They had had a child before me, and my dad stayed around till I was 7. My mom usually cheated on my dad, but then she found out he dared to cheat on her too. That was bad, but what really made her snap was that he said he could do better than her. You do not tell my mom there is someone better than her. She still hates Tarzan for choosing Jane, and she considers him to be her perfect mate. And my dad, someone who is just a warrior, not a prince or anything saying he could do better than the Queen of Opar…” Lala trailed off with a pregnant pause.

“Yeah, that is a bad move.” Aziz inhaled with empathetic pain as he imagined the vicious scene.

“After that he left, and…He actually didn’t hate me then. He invited me over here to this “civilized” area away from the “nutcase.” That’s what he calls her.

“But...my mom kept saying that he was choosing the slut over us, and I thought about how he could have children with this woman. Would he think those kids were better than me like that woman was better than my mom? And that wasn’t right. I’m his firstborn daughter. I’m the one he taught how to hunt. I’m the one who knows how to specially hunt eagle feathers.

I got jealous, I stalked him and his girl around and I found out she was a prostitute, but I thought she was cheating on him. I told him and said it showed that even she thought she was better than him. He couldn’t do better than mom and I. He didn’t take that well. He said I was just like my mom. Was I planning to murder ‘the other women’ so I could have his attention too even though I thought I was better than him?” So he stopped inviting me, and..yeah.”

“But what about now? If he hates you,why is he giving you food?” Aziz asked, surprised to find that he had almost finished the ribs, mold and all.

“He said one angry La mad at him is enough, he didn’t want to deal with two. So we sometimes come here and chat. We hunt. Not much now since puberty hit, and I got my white hair and all. It’s too difficult to look at me and not see her.” Lala shrugged again, looking down at the table, clearly trying to pretend the whole matter was cool with her and she didn’t care.

Aziz didn’t know what to say. He wanted to pull her into a hug and comfort her but he knew that wasn’t the way here. She’d probably scratch his eyes out first before admitting emotion.

But still.. It was slightly infuriating to think about. Lala had only been 7 years old. It was natural, she didn’t want to be replaced by some new family. Even if her stalking was unwarranted, the intention was kind of good, what with her concern that her dad was dating another woman who thought she was better than him. Albeit in a badly worded argument.

“So what about this brother you mentioned? What did he think of all this?” Aziz tried to smoothly turn the subject to a less intense topic.

“Oh umm nothing. He died before I was born.” Lala answered.

Aziz cringed, “Sorry. I mean not sorry. I guess you didn’t miss much since you never knew him. It’s just that I have a lot of siblings so when there’s family drama, we usually like to discuss it. Or sometimes fight about it if we disagree,” He saw Lala’s confused face, “Ugh, I’ll stop talking. I’ll stop. Right now.”

“I had a lot of siblings too.” Lala said, “Two sisters, three half sisters, and three half brothers. Plus Musala. That was the one I didn’t know.” Aziz whistled, inwardly contrasting her past tense with his present, “Wow nine’s a lot. I have two older sisters, Zahrat and Cassima, well three if you count Jordan, which we all do. One younger bro, Amal and another sister, Noor. Plus a nephew. That’s Zahrat’s son.”  

Lala had a pinched smile as she listened to him talk, not because she seemed disgusted but more like she was trying to suppress it. Not that she was succeeding too well, “What do you do together?”

“Uh lots of stuff. Mainly formal banquets because we’re royalty and all, but sand dune surfing, parkour. Though that’s just Cassima and I, but we’re getting the little ones into it. Horseback racing. That’s a big one. We have running tally between all of us, and I’m winning but Zahrat is going to beat me if I don’t win another one before her.” Aziz said, surprised by how enthusiastic he sounded as he talked about them, but then he realized how little he got to talk about his home life. In Auradon, everyone was so concerned with school and fashion and latest Vk gossip/rumors no one cares to ask about home life. They just figure they know all they need to know about Agrabah and his family.

“My siblings and I used to have a tally on our hunts too. We had such fun trying to get many prey as we could in one hour. One time I even convinced Ewuare that a speckled baboon was an actual creature, and he was so determined to be the first to..” She paused, caught in the memory before dismissing it, “I know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t actually care about them. Why should I? They succumbed to the jungle, they were weak.”  

Aziz didn’t buy it. If he had his eyes closed he was sure he would have believed her lie. Her matter of factness betrayed no wistful emotion. In fact, she sounded downright annoyed at the fact that weak people existed.

But her look didn’t match her voice. Despite not looking at him, where she looked was telling. She seemed to be staring out to the wrestling ring where the Hun was still beating up Stanley, with a brick this time, but her gaze was unfocused, and her lips were pursed thoughtfully. He wondered when her siblings died-if she had memories of hunting side by side in the jungle, secure in the knowledge that she had one person to trust on this Isle of liars, murderers and thugs. 

Or alternatively, if one of the siblings died just a few months old and she secretly wondered about it growing up. “When did they die?” Aziz ventured to ask, whispering with what he hoped was the appropriate amount of reverence.

Lala visibly tensed and then relaxed, and looked at him with a calm poker face.”When I was three, no two, I think, my mom gave birth to twins. One didn’t get a name because she died within a few hours. The other was Taytu Betuvira, she was my dad’s favorite because mom allowed him name her after himself.” The pinched smile returned but Lala bit it back, “I don’t remember much of her. I think, I thought she was cute. Like a baby cub. But she died a year later from a snake bite.”

“So when I was around four, my mom tried again with Rourke for a stronger child. You know, since dad’s kept dying off. Rourke didn’t stick around. Actually, I don’t think he even knows he had a son. Anyway, that son was Ewuare. He was the best.” Lala shook her head with a fond smile, clearly forgetting her “I didn’t care about them, they're weak” statement.

“But my mom wanted more than one child, so she slept with Clayton too. She got Leopold out of him. Clayton visited the jungle more often than Rourke but only when dad wasn’t around. His visits were more for hunting than for Leopold. Leopold was my mom’s son rather than Clayton’s. Clay was Clayton’s son.

It was nice for a while. Ewuare, Leopold, Clay and I. Clayton even let us use his gun sometimes so we could get used to a different weapon. But then Leopold got mauled by Sabor three years ago. He was only 8.” Lala reflexively clenched her fist and unclenched as she talked, her face growing stony with focused anger when she got to the part about Sabor.

“By then my dad was gone, Mom cheated on Clayton with Gaston and got a girl and boy, Amina and Shaka. They were the biggest babies by far. 8 pounds each. I was around 7 I think, and by then, I was expected to pick up the slack in the hunting department. It was awful. Ewuare was a natural hunter but Leopold kept dragging us down by wandering off. I mean I guess I shouldn’t expect more from a 2 year old, but by the time I was 2, I was a very obedient child. I don’t get why she was so relaxed when training him. I-“

“What happened to Amina and Shaka?” Aziz asked, seeing Lala was getting sidetracked by her mother apparently treating her differently from the twins.

“Oh, yes. They grew up, lasted a year longer than Leopold. But Amina ended up in quicksand, and Shaka tried to help her….” Lala paused again, thinking and composing herself to continue.

“Moving on. By the time I was 10, my mom decided she got the strong, powerful child she desired with Mozonroth. Her name was Sarraounia and she was mom’s favorite because she was starting to show natural magical powers once the barrier came down. She could make little illusions out of smoke. Her favorite was to pretend she was a panther. She was obsessed with panthers.”

“Oh no.” Aziz muttered to himself, half-listening to Lala’s comments about panthers and Sarraounia.

Lala cocked her head to the side like a cat which Aziz had to muse, so many things Lala did reminded him of a cat.

How quick her moods could change from curious look to ready to hiss and attack. Even her movements were catlike, full of grace and fluidity whether she walked on her two feet or as she climbed trees on all fours. The way she arched her back and stretched in  the morning, and whenever she smirked, it didn’t look human. It looked more like a crafty feline smile.

“What no?” Lala asked.

“Mozonroth’s my uncle.” Little known fact around Auradon was that Mozonroth was Aladdin’s half brother. Aladdin’s very evil sorcerer half brother that ruled over the Black Sands and wanted to rule over Agrabah too.

Aziz should have guessed that Mozonroth had a child. If a man like Lefou could have a child, surely Mozonroth was capable of it. Especially with the alleged hotness that he had heard so much about from Aunt Eden.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he has another child somewhere. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl though. It’s not Sarraounia. She died this year from fever.” Lala said taking a few deep inhales and exhales.

“My mom didn’t sleep with only one magical Agrabahian man though. She accidentally had a one night stand with Jafar.” Lala paused, clearly waiting for his reaction.

Aziz’s eyebrows shot up to hide behind his bangs, “So that’s how you know Jay.”

“Not that well. I was 13 and Jay was like 15 and even then he was arrogant and annoying. He kept trying to steal my teeth momentos, and pretended he could fight animals. He still keeps insisting that he is just as good a hunter as I am.” Lala huffed with annoyance at the memory.

“Jafar just came over to the cave to make sure my mom wouldn’t give him parental responsibilities of anything. Not that it mattered. My mom got sick with the yellow fever that was going around here, and almost died. I almost died trying to take care of her and getting the yellow fever. The baby came out dead so that was that.”

“Did Jay get to see it?” Aziz asked, starting to wonder if Jay’s pushed friendliness towards Lala was some sort of attempted almost sibling camaraderie.

“It was a she, and no. Jafar didn’t want to have anything to do with her.”

Aziz realized that she mentioned all her siblings’ deaths, but one. It was obvious she skipped over it, and he knew it must have been something terrible if she was glossing over it completely, but his curiosity urged him to know.

He stopped, opened his mouth and then closed it, and opened before finally asking, “What happened to Ewuare?”

Lala looked away, blinking rapidly, “He died four months ago. My jealousy struck again.”

Aziz waited as Lala pulled herself together after that cryptic comment.

“Like I said Ewuare was the best. He was smart, and fast, and such a good hunter. Such a good hunter. He always knew the right time to strike, and he was determined. My mom sometimes...she’d say Ewuare was better than I am in not getting scratched or I was better than him in hand to hand combat. She was trying to make us compete so we’d work harder. And Ewuare didn’t care who was better at what. But I-I got jealous.”

“Just that week, we got ambushed by coyotes and Ewaure got an awful bite on his shoulder, and I was happy. I knew it was going to leave a huge scar and Mom couldn’t hold my scars over me. So when we managed to fight them off, I continued hunting and let him Ewuare walk home alone. I let him because- “He was the magnificent Ewaure,”- he could heal himself.” Lala turned to face the wrestling ring as her nails dug into the splintered wooden table surface as if she was holding onto a liferaft to keep from drowning in emotion.

“..I-I was wrong. He didn’t get a scar. The coyote bit some vital veins and.. and he bled out as he walked….”

Without thinking, Aziz asked “How did you feel?” and Lala slowly  turned to give him a stony stare, her jaw clenched tightly and her eyes filled with unbidden tears.

The tiny voice in his head that sometimes sounded like Jordan berated him, “Not now, Sherlock Freud. Analyzing is off-limits.”

“I mean..um” Aziz stammered, and started talking about the first thing that came to his head, “Uh I get having a little sibling who's obsessed with big dangerous cats. Amal and Noor love our tiger, Rajah. They have these little posters and stuffed tigers all over their rooms. Noor pretended she was a tiger for a whole year and would only communicate in purrs and growls.”

Lala looked down at the table, and looked up, breathing shallowly in a clear attempt to keep grief at bay. At least she looked grateful for the topic change more than annoyed since she eagerly grasped at the opportunity to move on from Ewuare’s death. 

“Sarrounia was just as obsessed with panthers which made it pretty easy to train her. I would tell her all panthers had to know how to climb a tree properly so she would stop ignoring me and listen. And she was very eager to mimic cat sounds.” Lala followed it by a very realistic imitation of a leopard’s rasping yowl that caused Aziz to jolt back and nearby patrons stopped their cheering to stare at her.

Aziz laughed nervously from the sudden surprise, “Can you speak leopard?”

“No. I just sound like one. It scares other animals, and people.” Lala nodded satisfied with herself, and made a point to growl at a hefty looking pirate who was still staring curiously at her. “You’ll have to teach me that sometime. I tried to copy Rajah’s growling but I suck at it. I’m much better at speaking monkey.” Aziz said.

“You speak monkey? You’re a prince that speaks monkey?” Lala looked at him in disbelief, her lips quirking up in her usual feline grin as she tried to wrap her mind around the idea.  

“Yes. Fluently.” Aziz smiled smugly when Lala began to laugh at his talent, continuing to talk with some mock-indignation, “Though some of my classmates did think I was weird when I started to talk to some monkeys that broke out of the Auradon Zoo which is such a double standard. How come princesses can sing to the birds and the racoons without judgement but when I talk to monkeys in their own language..”

Aziz trailed off seeing that Lala was caught up in the hilarity of the fact he spoke fluent Monkey to listen to him. So he allowed himself the chance to observe her without fear of a berating glare. He was surprised to hear how it breathy her laugh was, ending with a snort after each gasp.

As he looked at her another figure caught his eye and made his heart jump into his throat.

He had seen that face many times in Uncle Genie’s magic “flashback shows.” Though the face was a little dirtier and a little bit bigger as if the man had been sampling one too many baklavas these days. 

There was no doubt that it was Abis Mal in the flesh. A helpful clue was the presence of a skeletal thin man that Aziz instinctively knew was Abis’ lazy and constantly annoyed assistant Haroud Hazi Bin.

“There’s Abis Ma!” Aziz hissed, jumping out of his chair to follow the bald bandit and his servant that were heading towards the alleyways.

As the pair left, two slender shadowy figures peeled away from western side of Gaston’s backyard wrestling ring. The dark side where no moonlight illuminated the area giving all manner of people the privacy to drink, to fuck and do what have they.

The two figures sat down where Aziz and Lala had been, licking their dark paws, their eyes glinting with fiendish delight.

“What would we have here, brother? A chance for a family reunion..” The female purred, her sharp teeth glinted brightly in contrast to her night black fur.

“Yes. Mozonroth and Marcellus should have a chance to kill the child of that infuriating Aladdin.” The male smirked, his shendyt fluttering in the night air caught the attention of a pirate’s kid who tried to grab it only to be scratched by the wearer.

“And not only the child of Aladdin, but...any other do gooder who helped him get here. It’s clear he didn’t come on his own.” The girl added, sharpening the claws of her right hand with her left.

The male laughed heartily, “Imagine how they’re going to lacerate him. This is going to be delightful to watch.”

Note on names: Like Ranavalalona, all the names are taken or slightly modified from real life African rulers like Taytu Betul of the Ethiopian Empire, Musa of the Mali Empire, Amina queen of the Zazzau city state, Shaka of the Zulu Kingdom, Ewuare of the Benin empire, and Sarraounia, the sorceress queen of Azna who was heavily associated with panthers. The only exception is Leopold named after King Leopold of Belgium who was a vicious colonizer of Congo and whose bloody hand would probably been respected by villains. 

[anthonybialy]

Disagree for Death

I think the best of my political foes.  I know they want to shove humans they dislike into meat grinders for the purest reasons.  The minerals contained within the bodies they harvest from their rotten policies will get them some much-needed spending money, and I sympathize with anyone's income supplementation.  The purity is admirable.  See?  Disagreement doesn't mean we have to be disagreeable.

Amicably presume foes want to kill you.  Get it out in the open so we can have everyone on record.  Twitter is valuable for letting users say exactly what they think, and the lack of impulse control is more helpful than impulsive participants realize.

Bad faith is suitable for a country where everyone despises everyone else so much that they don't even remember the arguments.  We used to take comfort in knowing that reasonable people can have different takes. Today, that means one side thinks the other is pro-mass murder. Uncommon amity is the hallmark of our time. Comment sections are black holes of happiness where any depressed person can find common ground with a fellow human.

It sucks how the slightest cut in handouts will exterminate the poors. That one fat cay party will never care.  In fact, Republicans profit from every enslaved human.  The destitute run on treadmills to fuel the wealthy goons' luxury steamships.  At least they're not burning more coal.

Realizing the other side has a point would be fatal, so loud noises are actually the most effective tactic.  Statists despise the notion that people can care for themselves once politicians stop pretending they can.  What if that money could be retained by those who earn it? Sure, it might be fair.  But the practical benefits  are atrocious. That money is unrestrained!  People only keep what's theirs until they want more stuff.  It's not like they'll hire or spend.  All that would do is fix the economic problems statists maintain they oppose.

Health care is good for living and not puking all the time.  It's fine to think our stupid and clumsy government is the only entity that can provide it.  I would classify it as misguided.  Still, a country devoted to rugged ingenuity decided removing competition increases price and quality.  We're already pretending insurance is cheaper, so why not demonize anyone who thinks shopping around helps prices?

Many Americans need medical attention on account of sentient firearms marching around in defiance of the law and shooting the innocent. We're as crazy as our guns. Sure, we've seen that attempting to control them is like blaming alcoholism on lowball glasses.  But it's easy to say we're addicted to violence when all we want is to scare off bad guys.

State management works aside from the results. It's one thing to disagree with the most obvious diagnosis of our clearly sick government.  Spot someone willing to debate by the claim those who want the innocent enabled to shoot back have blood on their hands.  The counterargument is tough to make while trying to plug wounds.

The toxicity oozes past the containment field.  The perpetual anger isn't a matter of merely feeling sad for a few moments after encountering a mean tweet.  Claim a slight cut in dependency will leave Americans starving, then wonder why Steve Scalise got shot.  Note who found it hard to not cheer; she goes by the name Joy Reid.

It's particularly appalling that those who suck at fixing things complain that everyone else breaks stuff.  You'd think people who proclaim politics can create utopia would be a little more sensitive to the hellishness they inflict.  Their own policies cause pain in the sort of irony they're too earnest to find amusing.  We can be kind enough to presume it's not by intent.  Statist ruffians could learn from the example. They prefer distracting by maintaining that any deviation will create corpse piles.

I wish their policies were as strong as their lunatic rhetoric, as they'd really have something.  The alarm specialists are in trouble when the public sees that not only is the apocalypse shockingly free of devastation but that many supposed victims have a little more cash in their pockets.  I suppose having extra weight to lug around could throw off alignment.  And spending it on food means potential weight gain, which exacerbates our nation's obesity problem.

But if those are the worst problems, the public's not going to be nearly as upset as hoped.  Misery is necessary to pass the policies.  It differs from making them actually work, at least depending on just how cynical you are.  If you still possess hope, you won't fit in around here.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Shuswap Joe was not yet a teenager when he left the Adams River behind, hiking through the forest with no belongings other than his pilfered logging outfit. For three days he followed a small off-shoot waterway through the woods that eventually led him to a fledgling community called Salmon Creek. It was 1910, and the storm clouds of the Great War were forming on the horizon. The streets were pot-holed and muddy, and still featured more horses than automobiles. The wooden buildings were ramshackle, the amenities scarce. There was far too few women but it was lousy with beast-like men who lived feral existences fueled by black market hooch. Mountain air swept through the rank alleyways and side-roads until it brought him the sweet tinkling of some far-off speakeasy piano on the wind. Joe swayed in time as slovenly criminals joined their voices together in chorus.

Human beings were still a marvel to Joe, who felt more at home in the arms of a tree than those of a person. He had never felt his mother’s touch. But there was something deep inside of him that yearned to sing a song that somebody else would truly understand. Besides the fisherfolk and Nanor, he’d never had a conversation with somebody who understood his language. The salmon trusted him, the eagles kept him company and the river eels had ignited his imagination. Now it was time to find his place in the land of people, a prospect that scared him more than swimming through the Canyon. He was hungry for the future, and Salmon Creek had the flavour of destiny. 

Right then a voice called out to him from nearby, accompanied by the twang and strum of a banjo. It echoed through the leaves. As Joe jumped from one branch to the next, trying to find the source of this soulful ballad, the night time throbbed with a magical purple energy. He balanced on a thick bough overlooking the creek, where a shirtless man was dangling his feet into the current. His voice was high-pitched and mournful, and in the low light he looked exactly like a frog.

It was a sad song this man was singing, but a beautiful one. 

“I sold my soul for a beautiful face, I sold my soul for cash. I sold my soul for lovely lace, how could I have been so rash?” he sang.

“My love has gone and left me, my love has hit the road, left nothing but her memory, she’s left this lonesome toad.”

When the song was finished, the man sighed and lingered for a moment in silence. The creek burbled along in front of him. There was a large barrel beside him with the letters XXX scrawled on the side. Joe watched as the man wrestled off the lid and dipped his tin cup into the brew. The moon’s glow made him appear in silhouette as he took a deep swig. That set him to coughing, which he did violently, until eventually he was ready for more. 

“Why do you drink if it makes you sick?” Joe asked, from his perch twenty feet above the man’s head. He hadn’t meant to ask the question out loud, but he had. His voice startled the man, who spun around flustered. He searched the nearby branches for danger.

“You have to take the sweet with the sour in this life,” the man shouted into the night. “If you’re not willing to suffer then you’re never going to succeed. Now who exactly am I speaking to?”

Joe jumped down from the tree, into the glare from the man’s fire. He already had the look of a full grown man, though his baby face was still bare of beard. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next. “What is that you’re drinking, then? It seems to make all the men in town vomit.”

“What, this? This is my own concoction,” the man said, climbing to his feet unsteadily. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Scotch. Well, this is Shu-Scotch, made right here in the Shuswap.”

“What is it?”

“What do you mean, boy? It’s alcohol!” 

The man introduced himself as Clif Garcia, and reached out a thickly callused hand. He was slightly hunched, with a pointed pink nose, and his bare shins were riddled with scars and burns. His patriarch had been a hugely successful Mexican rancher and had employed his many children herding livestock, but Clif had immigrated to Canada to chase after a woman and to become his own man. He was an entrepreneur, always looking for the next opportunity, and his most recent endeavour was the creation of this signature brew. He’d been perfecting it for two years, brewing batch after batch, but was now facing an issue he hadn’t anticipated. There was no way to actually transport his barrels of precious liquor to the buying customers, since the road system was insufficient, which meant his artistry was going to waste. He was stuck with a warehouse full of Shu-Scotch, no cash, and to add insult to injury? His love had left him.

“She never believed in my vision. She always wanted me to sell the inferior product to make a quick buck. She said the people drinking it will never appreciate my endless work. She never understood that a man is his reputation, and once it’s been created it’s deadly hard to change,” he said.

“I wanted them all to say ‘that’s Clif Garcia, he makes the best Scotch in the Shuswap’. Genius, they would call me. The history books would remember me. This would be my one real contribution to this world.”

He shook his head, and took another swig. “What a joke.”

Joe listened to Clif’s story while taking careful sips from the Scotch barrel. Heat rivulets ran down his throat, then collected in his chest like some great inner lake of energy. He could feel his limbs loosening, and the same sort of giddy intoxication he’d experienced with the river eels. He threw his arm around Clif and they clinked their cups, their feet splashing happily in the water. He’d never felt this close to a person before, and it was like he’d been maneuvered here by the universe for precisely this moment. He was meant to learn something from this man, but what?

“A true love affair can kill you just as well as a bullet,” Clif said. “There are plenty of dangerous things in this world, but love is the most dangerous of all. If you fall in love with the wrong woman, well, nothing can ruin you like that.”

“Who was this wrong woman?” Joe asked.

Clif smiled to himself. “Her name was Serena Silverspoon, and her voice was louder than any man’s. She was the most talented juggler I’ve ever seen, and she traveled around the Shuswap performing. I’ve never seen such a lust for adventure in a woman. Her head was full of dreams, of trips to faraway places and mansions where our many children would grow. She knew the type of life she wanted and she wouldn’t settle for anything less. I should’ve known the moment we got together that there was no way I would be able to provide that type of life for her. I was doomed from the start to let her down.”

“Did you get married?”

Clif shook his head. “We always said once I had my recipe complete, once I had a perfect barrel of Shu-Scotch and the operation was underway, then we’d be able to fulfill our dreams. That day kept getting further and further away, until finally she met some circus performer and ran away in the middle of the night. She took everything I had, every last cent, but I don’t blame her for a moment. The thing is, I still love her, Joe. No matter how villainous she is, and no matter how much she hurt me, I still love her. Goddamnit, I do.”

Joe could feel the alcohol pumping through his veins as he staggered to his feet. He could feel a revelation taking form in his mind, could see the crashing of a river current as barrels bobbed, and he blinked into the late night darkness. The trees were singing a holy song. He looked down at the Scotch barrel they had just emptied, then at Clif’s feet hanging in the creek. Then he reared back and gave the barrel a mighty kick.

“What the hell, kid?” Clif yelled, jumping up. “Them barrels are expensive.”

Joe smiled. “You said you were having trouble with distribution, right? The roads aren’t good enough? You said you have a warehouse of hooch and no way to get it to your customers?”

He paused for a moment, watching the light of inspiration dance across Clif’s face. They turned and watched the barrel make its way around a corner and disappear into the darkness.

“Who needs a road, when you have a river?”

The Kootenay Goon

[momentskrp]

SACRED HEARTS SPOTLIGHT:

today we’re showcasing our 3C tenant kim hyunwoo, who has been with us at sweetheart since august 2018. he’s currently a chef, but we hear he has big dreams of becoming a celebrity chef someday. turn to page 5 to read more!

PAST.

seoul, 2012;

“you can’t talk to her like that.”

“what’d you say to me boy? do you know who the fuck i am?”

the entire pocha goes silent, and suddenly it seems as if all the drunken customers in the place have sobered up. they all stare stupidly at the teenage boy in the middle of the tented stall. he’s tall, lean, cheeks flushed in a slight red, though it’s hard to tell whether it’s from the cold night wind outside or by his own temper. he’s still dressed in high school uniform, though his tie is loosened, blazer unbuttoned, and cuffs drawn. they’d wonder why he wasn’t already home studying or asleep at such a late hour, but there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye that gives away that he must not be a very good student anyway.

there’s a harsh clattering as the boy’s opponent rises from his stool. using both hands, the staunch, balding man shoves the table away from himself as he rises, and his mindless minions follow, stumbling in drunken daze as they do. soju glasses and beer bottles clink loudly against the food platters. soup spills over the bowls and onto the table.

“i don’t give a fuck who you are. you can’t fucking talk to her like that.”

the larger man steps towards the boy, slurred explicits seething from between his teeth. but the boy doesn’t budge. he can smell too many bottles of soju on the man’s breath.

“hyunwoo-yah, what are you doing? just listen to me and leave now. i will take care of things, but you just get going now. it’s really okay.”

the other women have emerged from behind the kitchen now, and they join the customers — drunk college students, salarymen, the brokenhearted — in idle spectatorship. they watch now as a small, wiry woman in her fifties yanks helplessly at her adamant son’s jacket, eyes desperately pleading for him to stop with his reckless stunt. her back is hunched, hands wrinkled from countless years laboring away in the crowded kitchen, keeping alive her pocha in an age when they were going extinct. why couldn’t he see that his opponent was not someone to be messed with? this was the first time she had seen her boy in weeks now, and the last thing she needed was for him to be dead at the hands of the local gang. it’s not like this was the first time she’d have to plead the goons to pay for their meal before leaving… why couldn’t he see?

“no mom, it’s really not okay. what about this is okay to you? why do you always say everything is fucking okay when it’s not?!”

he angrily rips away from his mother’s grasp, viciously slapping her hand away when it reaches for his arm again. he doesn’t get why his mother puts up with this bullshit day in and day out. it made him sick to the stomach how she always acted like everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. when she’d be verbally abused by drunken customers, struggled to pay the bills, when he’d only come back home once every few weeks — even when his father left them ten years ago: “it’s okay”.

he’s too caught up with his mother before being harshly reminded of his other opponent by a heavy blow to the jaw, but he feels no pain. with naive courage, he shoves the drunken man backwards into the table, sending dishes and drinks clamoring to the floor as the audience gasps. he picks up a metal stool, swinging it over his head and slamming down with strength of all the injustice he’d felt in the world. in the midst of the chaos, he flees, running from the tent through crowded streets, lungs heaving against the cold winter air, a hollering gang chasing after him like a pack of hounds.

the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth from the deep gash in his inner lip, regardless of how many times he spits. It’s the last taste of home he’ll remember.

tokyo, 2014;

“so when are you going home? there can’t possibly be that much to learn in a kitchen.”

he shifts his head in the girl’s lap, giving a flirtatious tug on the hem of her skirt as he shoots her a fake look of hurt. her fingers stroke through his hair, and she giggles a bit. after graduating high school, he took the first flight out of korea he could find, eventually taking a job in at a rising restaurant in tokyo. If nothing else, the years he had spent helping in his mother’s kitchen had left him with solid culinary fundamentals, and though the pay wasn’t much, he was a quick learner, pocketing as many tricks of the craft as he could. plus the restaurant owner figured that the korean boy’s good looks were a sticking point for female customers of the restaurant.

“you really want me to leave you that bad?”

he was slowly starting to lose count of the number of months he’d been in this foreign city. obviously enough to where his japanese had improved to the level of fluency required for flirtation and persuasion. but now his female companion had him thinking. she was wrong about there not being anything to learn in the kitchen. he’d learnt that cooking could be pleasant, when not serving up food to drunken bastards in a pocha. that the top chefs could live lives of glory and pleasure beyond what his poor mother could ever imagine. that everyone has hunger, and everyone has taste, even if they don’t realize it. life is just a constant quest to satiate.

and so maybe she was also right. he couldn’t stay here forever. he had nothing to lose, so he might as well just shoot for more. he made up his mind to leave. an unreadable grin takes over his lips, and he gets up, gently laying her down now.

“well i’ll make sure you miss me when i do.”

paris, 2018

“get the fuck out of my kitchen!”

his french was still a while away from fluent, but he understood enough to get that much: he was being fired. grabbing the hat from his head, he hurls it to the ground, the other hand angrily working on the knot of his apron. he grabs the giant knife he had in hand, furiously slamming it point-first into the slab of lamb he had been working on. he’d put on display more of his recently erupting temper if he didn’t know how skilled his boss also was with a knife.

it had been close to four years now since he’d taken a one-way flight out of tokyo, converting his entire savings into euros before backpacking through the continent of europe. an endless chain of worn down hostels in italy, spain, and france had left him penniless, but deep in rich culinary experiences, pleasures of life, and the romance of the region. he was now utterly convinced that a chef was the world’s most honest, worthy occupation. the world was full of illusions and bullshit, but good food, and a matching glass of wine. what else was as undeniably good in the world?

is it good? does it give pleasure? the only two questions he was interested in answering when doing his craft. ironically, he found himself waltzing his way into the prime of 21st century hedonism. he had no idea what a drug-fuelled culture chefs often indulged in, and the restaurant industry’s high-stress, fast-paced culture would only fuel his appetite for drugs, alcohol, and sin. shit, sometimes he couldn’t even taste his own food right. honestly, it was fair that he was being fired from the best restaurant gig he’d landed thus far.

he bursts out the back exit of the restaurant, shooting an empty glare at some of his ex-colleagues chilling by the loading dock. fuck, he should’ve never taken up their offer to “try something new” a few months back. they yell something at him in confusion, but he doesn’t look back and continues to walk into the paris streets. he wishes he had somewhere to go.

PRESENT.

comfort food: food that provides consolation or a feeling of well-being, typically associated with childhood or home cooking. it was a pity how nothing about his childhood or home cooking was anything close to what he associated with consolation or well-being. rather, it’s what he retreats to now that over-indulgence has left him trashed and starving for any bit of hope and pleasure.

he’s lucky to have found a rising restaurant in seoul that will give someone like him a chance. they were impressed by his expertise of foreign cuisine, especially for someone who had no formal technical education and clearly lacked the financial means to have naturally developed such a fine palette. he doesn’t tell them it’s because he’s a bad son who ran away from home, abandoning his mother and ashamed of her cooking, which was for sustenance, not pleasure. he doesn’t tell them that he’s back home because he’s an ex-addict, fired from his last gig, and really has no other option.

he’s been living in the sharehouse for a few months now, and it’s honestly not bad at all, especially for the rent. if anything, it reminds him of his backpacking days staying in crowded hostels. new people, new stories. it’s less lonely that way. he’s glad to cook for the other residents when he can, as they make fine testers for new recipes and innovation that he can’t try on real customers back at work. the rooftop is a fine place to wind down too, especially on days when he’s allowed to sneak home a bottle of fine wine or liquor left over from the day. and although he hates to admit, he’s missed the irreplaceable charm of korean food. after all, food is everything someone is. it’s an extension of identity, personal history, culture, family, friends. it’s inseparable from those from the get-go.